


Arkaig Hall

by IsolationShepherd



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Doctor Abby, F/M, Injured Kane, Kabby, Loch - Freeform, Moors, Nursing, Relentless Abby, Scotland, Slow Burn, Stubborn Kane, Victorian, castle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:08:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28411425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsolationShepherd/pseuds/IsolationShepherd
Summary: It's 1902 and a youthful Abby Griffin takes up a post in a remote part of Scotland where she is to nurse a wounded man back to health. Her young charge, Lord Marcus Kane, was injured in war, but won't talk about what happened to him. In fact, he barely talks at all except to be rude and dismissive to his carer. Abby soon realises his wounds are mental as well as physical and sets about trying to heal his mind and body. Lord Kane finds her exasperating, but Abby is relentless and believes she can wear him down. She has reasons of her own for wanting to stay as long as possible in this hidden part of the country, far away from the life and troubles she has left behind. Will she succeed in bringing life back to Arkaig Hall and its residents, and can she hide from her past forever?
Relationships: Abby Griffin/Marcus Kane
Comments: 135
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

**Fort William, Scotland, October 1902**

Abby Griffin had almost given up hope of finding another suitable position when the advertisement in the Lochaber Times caught her eye. She’d come close to missing it, was scanning the tiny newsprint wearily expecting there to be nothing as usual, her finger pre-licked and poised to turn the page.

She’d returned to her new lodgings an hour before, lit the fire in the living room and made a simple soup on the range from the vegetables she’d purchased in the market next to the railway station. It was a cold day, made dark earlier than usual by the black clouds and the wind that was currently throwing the rain horizontally against the windowpanes, as though it was angry and wished to break something. Abby was sitting at the small table, the newspaper spread out before her, squinting in the dim glow of the oil lamp that was her sole means of light, the landlord being too cheap to get gas piped to the property.

The advertisement was short and intriguing.

_Private nurse wanted for sole patient. Must be robust and discreet. Accommodation provided. Apply with references to Arkaig Hall, Arkaig County._

Robust and discreet? They were odd words to put together. What would she need to be robust for? Discreet she could understand, because a nurse dealt with the most private areas of life, but robust? There was nothing about what particular skills they were looking for or what the post entailed. Was the sole patient a man or a woman, or a child? No salary was detailed, but there was accommodation, so she wouldn’t need to spend much.

Abby had no idea where Arkaig County was. She took the Atlas of Scotland off the bookshelf, thumbed the index, and turned to the page that contained Arkaig. It was in the Highlands, on the west coast. There was a lot of brown and purple on the map, which indicated mountains, and little else except a series of lochs, the largest of which, Loch Arkaig, drained into the sea. Maybe that’s why they wanted someone robust, to manage the physicality of the area. There were few habitations she could discern, but Arkaig Hall appeared to sit on the moors above the loch. A more remote and distant place Abby could not have imagined. It was perfect.

Two weeks later Abby was on the final train journey towards her destination. It had taken two days to reach this point, and there was still a long carriage ride to endure. The scenery had been beautiful most of the way, the track running alongside lochs dotted with wooded islands like emerald jewels in a sapphire sea. They’d crossed mountain passes and rivers and a huge viaduct with too many arches to count. She’d opened the window to see it better, stuck her head out, getting a lungful of smoke for her trouble. She’d viewed the approaching viaduct through a veil of itchy tears.

The last hour or so the landscape had changed to moorland, vast swathes of purple heather and the bright green shoots of blaeberry. Mountains already capped with snow were in the far distance and the sky was turning from blue to grey, clouds gathering, rain in the air when she ventured her head outside the window again.

Ten days after she’d sent her application by Royal Mail, she’d received a reply in the form of a telegraph. It had been short and to the point, like the original advertisement, stating simply that she was to come post haste, bringing appropriate clothing and her medical bag. She didn’t have a proper bag, had in the past carried her equipment in a carpet bag she’d inherited from her father. She had the feeling that wouldn’t be good enough for Arkaig Hall, so she’d spent a large portion of her remaining money on a black leather bag with a silver clasp. It sat proudly on the seat next to her in the empty carriage.

The rest of her meagre savings had gone on the train tickets and a pair of black sturdy boots suitable for walking in the most trying of conditions. She had no idea what she was going to face, as the telegraph had given few details. Her friends, if she still saw them, would think she had lost use of her faculties taking a post in the middle of nowhere without knowing a thing about it. She’d had a scare, though, at the market last week, saw a tall man in a black morning coat and an English Derby hat, clutching a brown cane with a silver snake’s head handle. She couldn’t see his face, but her stomach had turned at the sight of him nevertheless. She’d hidden behind the fruit and veg stall, watched as he conversed with the news vendor. When he’d gone, she went across.

“The man with the cane. What did he want?”

“I beg your pardon, missus?”

“The man you just served; you were conversing with him. Was he looking for someone, a woman, with brown hair and brown eyes like me?”

“Nae missus. He wanted a copy of Punch magazine but I dinnae have it yet.”

“Was that all?”

“Aye.” The man looked at her confused, and Abby nodded.

“Thank you.”

It had been nothing in the end, but it had served as confirmation that she was doing the right thing getting as far away from everybody as she could. This posting had come along at the most apposite time. Whatever lay ahead, it couldn’t be as bad as what she was leaving behind.

An hour later she was disembarking at Corran station, which was the end of the line. Not the end of the line for her, Abby hoped, smiling at her joke. She stood on the platform with her medical bag in one hand and the carpet bag containing her few clothes and necessities in the other. The train hissed out a huge plume of steam as though it too was glad to be at the end of its travels. The only other passenger had departed, and she was left alone. There didn’t appear to be a welcome party, so she walked through the small wooden ticket hall and out onto the lane, if you could call the rutted track such, and scanned the surroundings.

A light rain was falling, and she put down her bags so she could pull her cloak tighter around her. She pulled up her hood, tucked her long braid inside. It didn’t do much to protect her, and by the time she heard the clip of horses’ hooves in the distance she was damper than the boggy moors that surrounded her. She could have sheltered in the ticket office, but something had prevented her from doing that. She was out here now, and she would stay here until her carriage arrived.

A moment later there appeared a large black carriage with the crest of a stag’s head and crown affixed to the side. Two magnificent black horses pulled the carriage, and a young man sat in the driver’s seat looking as bedraggled and miserable as Abby.

“Miss Griffin?” he said, looking forlornly at her.

“I am Miss Griffin, yes.”

“I’m Monty Green from Arkaig Hall. I’ve come to fetch thee.”

“Thank you, Monty.” The man showed no signs of jumping down to help her, so Abby opened the door and put her bags on the seat swiftly followed by herself. It wasn’t warm inside the carriage, but at least the wind and rain couldn’t reach her. She felt sorry for Monty stuck up on the driver’s seat with nothing but his cloak and hat to protect him.

He shouted to the horses and they set off. Abby looked out of the window as they travelled but saw nothing except moorland for miles around and soon even that was gone, replaced by grey mist and more drizzle. She took a book out of her bag and tried to read, but the light was poor, and the carriage was bouncing along the rutted track so much she couldn’t concentrate on the words. She closed her eyes instead, somehow drifted into sleep.

She was woken by a shout and realised the carriage had stopped moving.

“We’re here, Miss,” said Monty.

Abby gathered her things together and this time Monty opened the door for her. She stepped out into the mist, looked around. A huge stone castellated building loomed in front of her, backed by the grey shape of a rounded hill. The Hall had turrets and gables and multiple chimneys. The main part was five storeys high, with arched windows on the third floor and a turret at the top with a grey roof and a cockerel weathervane that spun crazily in the wind. She could see little else of her surroundings because of the mist, which was chilling and smelt of the sea. The loch was nearby she supposed, back along the road they’d traversed. From close by came the sound of dogs howling.

Monty took her bags and Abby followed him up stone steps overgrown with heather and grasses towards a white wooden door set in an arch. The door opened as they approached, and a tall, thin, grey-haired woman dressed all in black stood on the threshold, arms folded.

“You’re the nurse,” she said, her Scottish accent refined enough to have originated in one of the lowland cities. Glasgow probably. Abby was from Edinburgh where most well-to-do families like hers sounded more English than Scottish. It was surprising, because she’d assumed everyone here would be Highland and that she might have some difficulty understanding.

“I am,” said Abby smiling. “Abby Griffin.” She held out her hand towards the woman, but the offer was not taken up, nor was an introduction made.

“You’d better come in.”

The woman turned on her black comfortable heels and headed inside. Abby followed, trepidatious now, because the house was huge and cold and echoey, and the woman seemed incapable of smiling. What had she let herself in for?

She was immediately in a giant hallway with a grey stone floor and a huge stone staircase that curved up and round. The walls were oak wood panelled which gave some warmth to the room, but that was mitigated by the fearsome suits of armour that guarded the stairs and each doorway. Abby half expected one to put out its sword and bar her way. The woman led her through a door to the right of the hallway into a large room dominated by a huge stone fireplace with a stag’s head above it. The stag had twelve points on its antlers like the one in the famous painting by Landseer. It must have been a proud old creature.

The room had a carpet covering the floor in the centre, upon which sat two huge sofas and two armchairs, arranged around the fireplace. There were tapestries hanging on the walls and heavy red and gold damask curtains at the windows. The room had a look of opulence, but as she passed closer, she saw that the sofas were becoming threadbare and the dark wood furniture had a veneer of dust. She swiped her finger along a side table as she passed, examining the resulting thick layer and promptly sneezing. The woman looked around sharply, and Abby dropped her hand to her side.

“You’re not ill?” she said, looking as though an answer to the affirmative would have Abby turned around and swiftly expelled from the building.

“No.” Abby decided not to reply further because she didn’t want to draw attention to the slovenly nature of the room in case it was this woman’s responsibility. She already felt as though she’d got off on the wrong foot and she hadn’t said more than a hello and her name.

“We specified robust,” said the woman, frowning.

“I am robust. There is no need to fear.”

“I do not fear anything.”

“Neither do I,” which wasn’t quite true, but Abby thought any signs of weakness would be pounced upon by this cold-hearted woman.

The woman stared at her a moment longer then turned and continued through the large room and another one equally as grand, this one containing a dining table long enough to fit two dozen diners at least. The walls here were lined with portraits and stags’ heads. There was another giant fireplace with an ornate gold-framed mirror above it. The glass looked tarnished, the dining table empty of place settings or cutlery or anything to define its purpose. It was as though no one lived here, yet they clearly must.

They ended up at the rear of the building in a kitchen that was the only place containing any life. Pots were steaming on the great black range and a scrubbed oak table was covered with plates and bowls, an enormous loaf of bread and more fruit than Abby had seen at the stall in Fort William. A small girl with a blonde plait peeking out of her white maid’s cap was standing at the stove, stirring one of the pots.

“I’ve brought the nurse,” said the woman, and the blonde girl turned and smiled.

“Hello,” she said. She looked behind Abby and her smile turned shy. “Hi, Monty.”

Monty put Abby’s bags next to the table then disappeared without responding. The girl’s smile never wavered.

“I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Abby.” Abby held out her hand without much expectation, but it was taken by the girl and shaken softly.

“Harper McIntyre, Miss. Pleased to meet thee.”

“Give the nurse some food, then show her to her room,” said the woman.

“When will I see the patient?” said Abby, who was beyond curious having seen the house and the people who inhabited it. Who could possibly live in a house like this and require her attention?

“Not today,” said the woman, and then she turned and left the way she had come.

“Let me help ye with yer cloak, Miss. Yer all damp.”

“Thank you,” said Abby, and she unfastened the clasp on her dark blue cloak and let Harper slip it from her shoulders and hang it next to the fire.

“Soon have it dried. Tek a seat. I’ve got some nice, warming soup for thee.”

Abby pulled out a plain wooden chair and sat in it. “Who was that woman? She never introduced herself.”

“That’s Mrs MacKay, Agnes MacKay, though no one’s allowed to call her Agnes.”

“Is she always so... cold?”

Harper ladled some soup into a bowl and passed it to Abby. “Ye get used tae it.” She cut a slice of bread as big as the soup bowl and slathered a bright yellow butter over it before placing it next to Abby’s bowl.

“I hope ye enjoy that, Miss. It’s just chicken and vegetables but it’ll warm yer cockles.”

Abby tasted the soup which was indeed warming. “This is delicious, thank you.”

Harper’s face lit up. “Ah good. I’ll get thee a nice cup of tea as well.”

“Are there many staff here? It’s such a large house. It must take a lot of work to upkeep.”

“There’s not a lot, Miss. Mrs MacKay who ye’ve met is the housekeeper. There’s me as cook and general housemaid, and wee Charlotte is scullery maid. She’s supposed to do t’cleaning but she’s nae very good. She’s only ten so what can ye expect.”

“Only ten? That’s young. Shouldn’t she be in school?”

“She willnae go, Miss.”

“I see, and how old are you?”

“I’m eighteen, Miss, and so’s Monty. He’s the driver and he looks after the horses and the dogs. There’s a few estate workers but they live in the nearby village. Then there’s Mr Sinclair, he’s the estate manager but also like a valet to the master. Most of us do more than one job.”

There were only four years between her and Harper, but Abby felt ancient and worn down in comparison to this bright girl. “Where’s Mr Sinclair now?”

“Probably with the master.” She placed a chipped china cup in front of Abby and poured a dark tea out of a pot decorated with roses. “Does tha want milk?”

“Please.” So there was a master in the house, her patient perhaps.

“Is the master the patient?”

“Aye, Miss. Did ye not know?”

“No one has said anything about who my patient is.”

“Ah. Well, I probably shouldnae say any more then.”

“Does the Master have a wife? Children?” Abby said, desperate to get some information out of the girl while she was alone.

Harper looked furtively around. “No, Miss. He’s quite alone, and he likes it that way.”

“I see. What is he like? What’s his name? How old is he?”

“His name is Lord Kane. Lord Marcus Kane. He was four and twenty on Lammas day. I cannae tell ye what he’s like. Ye’ll have to see fer yerself.” With that she turned away, busied herself at the sink washing pots.

Lammas day was in August on the first day of the month. Abby’s birthday was in May, so he was only a couple of years older than her. That might make life easier. They would have things in common.

She ate her soup, tearing off chunks of the warm bread and dipping it in. Whatever else was wrong with this place at least the food was good. Lord Marcus Kane. She didn’t recognise the name, but then she wasn’t likely to, not when he lived all the way up here. If he’d come to Edinburgh to take his place in society then she would have heard of him from her father’s table conversations at the very least. He liked to be alone, Harper had said, so maybe that was why he hadn’t been in society. There was nothing wrong with wanting to be alone. Wasn’t that part of the reason Abby had come here after all?

After her supper, Harper picked up Abby’s bags and insisted on carrying them despite Abby’s protestations. They ascended a narrow set of stairs that led off the kitchen, going up two flights until Abby suspected they were in the gabled area of the building.

“All the servants are on this floor, Miss, except for Mr Sinclair who lives in the master’s wing. Ye’ve got a nice room at the back. I hope ye’ll like it.”

She opened a door at the end of a corridor and Abby entered. The room was spartan but looked clean and comfortable. The wooden floor was swept, and the fire had been lit and was well ablaze. The wrought iron bed had white linen coverings and piles of tartan blankets. There was a small writing table and chair in one corner and a nightstand with bowl and jug of water in another. A blue and gold tartan armchair sat next to the window. Abby walked across, looked out, but it was too dark to see anything.

“It looks lovely, thank you.”

“Charlotte cleaned it for ye but I wouldn’t hold yer breath for it to get done too often. Ye’d be best looking after yerself if ye want to keep it tidy.”

“That’s fine with me.”

“I’ll leave thee to it. Ye’d be best settling in then getting some rest as ye’ll have a big day tomorrow. Breakfast is at six-thirty.”

“Thank you, Harper. You’ve been most kind.”

The girl nodded and smiled then closed the door behind her. Abby sat on the bed, feeling its comfortable give. The room was small but adequate for her needs. It seemed strange not to have been shown around more thoroughly. In her previous postings she’d been welcomed warmly and given tours and met her patients. She’d never been abandoned quite so quickly before. Maybe it was just as well. She’d endured a long journey and she was tired.

She opened her carpet bag and took out the navy-blue dress with white apron she wore as her nurse’s uniform, hanging it on the back of the door so the creases would drop out overnight. She had a simple blue dress she wore on her time off and she put that in the wardrobe. Her only party dress was in dark green with a fitted corset and flared skirt. She fingered the ivory buttons that ran down the centre. She’d brought it because in the past she’d been required to attend balls and parties as part of the household. Instinct told her she’d never get to wear that here.

She placed her books on the small bookcase next to the table and chair together with the likeness of her parents in its silver frame. She caressed the edges, feeling the usual guilt. It was dark enough to require candles, so she lit one and sat by the window in the armchair with her book. She read until she could see no more without squinting, then put down the book. The clock said eight thirty, which was early, but she was tired and there was nothing else to do.

The fire was waning, so she stoked it before unfastening herself from her travel dress and removing her undergarments. She went through her ablutions, washing quickly in the cold water before putting on her thick cotton nightgown and clambering into bed. The mattress was well sprung and supported her slim body comfortably. She pulled the cover over her and one of the tartan blankets. It was snug, better than the bed in the house she’d quit in Fort William. It wasn’t long before she was falling into an exhausted sleep.

When she woke it was still dark, and she was disorientated for a moment. She lit the candle, looked at the clock. It was only three, too early to get up. She turned over, tried to get back to sleep when she heard a loud cry. What was that? She listened and it came again, piercing the night.

Abby got out of bed, pulled on her dressing gown and took up the candle, opening the door and peering out. Nothing was happening in the servants’ quarters. The sound came from far away, and she followed it, locating a door at the end of the corridor. She opened it, looked ahead. Still no people, but the cry came again. She hurried along the corridor and through another door where she realised with surprise that she was on a landing over the entrance hall. She looked down and saw the armoured guards.

Across the landing the stairs curved upwards, and she was about to head that way when someone came flying down them. It was Harper. She stopped suddenly when she saw Abby.

“Harper! What’s happening?”

“Go back to bed, Miss, before Mrs MacKay catches ye.”

“No, I want to help. Is it my patient? Is that him crying out?”

“Aye, Miss, but ye cannae help him tonight.”

“Of course I can, it’s what I’m here for. Let me get my bag.” She turned to head back into the corridor, but Harper ran across the landing to her.

“Ye cannae help him tonight, Miss. He won’t thank thee for it.”

“I don’t understand. I’m here to be his nurse. If he’s in pain I can help him.”

“Aye, and ye will I’m sure, but not tonight. He won’t want to meet thee like this. Go back to bed. Ye’ll be more help in the morrow.”

Abby stood and looked at Harper, confused and uncertain. Why should she listen to this girl, this maid? As nurse she outranked her, could overrule her.

“Please, Miss,” said Harper. “It’s for the best. Ye have to trust me.”

“I hope you’re right, Harper.”

“I am, Miss. Ye’ll see.” Harper looked up as footsteps echoed on the stone. “It’s Mrs MacKay, don’t let her see thee.”

She hurried on down the stairs and Abby opened the door and went through into the corridor. She didn’t leave, though. She left the door ajar, peered through the gap. Mrs MacKay hurried past, a large cloth bundle in her arms. She was with a tall dark-skinned man with short, curly hair. He was dressed in a dark suit with a waistcoat and a jacket and tails.

“He’s worse than ever tonight,” said Mrs MacKay as they passed.

“Perhaps the new nurse will do a better job,” said the man, whom Abby presumed was the estate manager, Mr Sinclair.

“I doubt it. She’s from the lowlands, well educated. She won’t last five minutes here with him.”

“What’s the record for shortest stay?” said Mr Sinclair.

Mrs MacKay’s answer was lost as they turned the corner and continued down the stairs. Abby shut the door, leant against it. Who on earth was Lord Marcus Kane, and what had happened to him? Why didn’t he want to see her at the moment in time when he surely needed her the most? It was unfathomable.

She headed back to bed but couldn’t sleep. She sat in her armchair with the blankets wrapped around her and thought about what had brought her here, and what might be in store. They weren’t pleasant thoughts, and by six o’clock she was up and dressed and ready to face the day, and whatever it would bring.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby finally meets her mysterious patient.

By six thirty Abby was in the kitchen seated at the table. She’d expected to see the rest of the servants here, but the only people present were Monty and the girl, Charlotte, who was helping Harper with the breakfast. Abby had offered to help but had been gently rebuffed. Harper hadn’t mentioned the events of earlier in the night, and Abby didn’t want to speak of them in case Monty and Charlotte were unaware, though she was burning with curiosity. She turned instead to the quiet, dark-haired young man sitting to her right.

“Thank you for collecting me yesterday, Monty. I didn’t get a chance to say so at the time.”

“Ye’re welcome, Miss,” he mumbled.

“Do you do a lot of driving for the master?”

Monty shrugged. “I mostly meet the train and fetch supplies.”

“I see. That’s where all this fresh fruit comes from?”

“From Glasgow, Miss, straight off the ships.”

“Goodness!”

“The master likes his fruit.”

“It is good for his health I’m sure.”

Monty stared blankly at her in reply.

“Food is good for everything,” said Harper, putting a heaving plate in front of Abby. “Ye’ve got bacon and haggis and tatty scones and a nice fried egg, Miss. I can make thee some fried bread as well if tha wants.”

“No, that’s fine, thank you. This is more than enough,” said Abby, wondering how she was going to manage to eat it all.

“Harper makes a good fried egg. Nice and crispy on the bottom,” said Monty, and Harper beamed in response.

Harper and Charlotte took their places at the table. Charlotte was a small, thin girl with ash blonde hair fastened in the same way as Harper’s although Abby didn’t think they were sisters, for Harper would surely have mentioned it yesterday. She looked younger than ten, and certainly not old enough to be working in a place like this. Abby introduced herself, smiling warmly, but received no response.

“She don’t talk much when she don’t know thee, Miss,” said Harper.

“Then I hope we will get to know each other well in time, and you can tell me all about yourself. Thank you for preparing my room yesterday. It was very satisfactory.”

Charlotte glanced at Abby then looked back at her plate.

“What do ye say, Charlotte?” said Harper.

“Thankee Miss,” whispered Charlotte.

“Are Mrs MacKay and Mr Sinclair not going to join us for breakfast?” said Abby, cutting into her egg. Monty was right, it was crispy on the bottom but still soft and runny in the middle.

“They’ve had theirs, Miss,” said Harper.

Good Lord! Didn’t the people here ever sleep? They’d both been up in the dead of night as had Harper, and yet here they were, hours ahead of Abby in terms of readiness for the day.

“I see.”

“Mrs MacKay said ye’re to be ready in the great hall by half past seven.”

“Oh! Thank you for telling me.”

Harper looked at her for a long moment. “Ye seem like a nice lady, Miss.”

“Thank you.” Abby waited for Harper to qualify her statement which seemed apropos of nothing, but she put her head down and carried on eating her meal.

After breakfast, Abby returned to her room to collect her medical bag. She was wearing her new boots because she wasn’t sure if she’d be expected to go outside with her patient. For the same reason she gathered up her cloak, which had been dried by Harper.

She avoided the short cut to the stairs, not wanting to open the door and accidentally bump into Mrs MacKay who would wonder how she knew about the passage. Instead, she went back to the kitchen then through the dining room and the dusty sitting room and out into the hall. She was nervous, which she rarely got, her hands sweaty and her pulse racing. It was because of all the mystery surrounding her patient and the fact she had no idea what to expect. To her surprise it wasn’t Mrs MacKay who came down the stairs to meet her, it was the estate manager, Mr Sinclair.

“Miss Griffin, I’m Mr Jacapo Sinclair, Lord Kane’s estate manager,” he said, his accent very clearly English, from the north she fancied.

“Abby Griffin,” replied Abby, taking the proffered hand and shaking it firmly.

“Welcome to Arkaig Hall. I trust you had a good journey yesterday?”

“It was long, but not unpleasant, thank you.”

“Shall we retire to the sitting room. I want to give you more information on your new patient, and what is expected of you.”

“I know nothing,” said Abby, following him into the dusty room, “so anything you can tell me would be welcome.”

Mr Sinclair indicated one of the armchairs in front of the cold fire and Abby sat in it, careful not to raise up a plume of dust. Mr Sinclair sat in the other chair.

“You are working for Lord Kane as I’m sure you know. He is the owner of this Hall and a proud lineage that goes back many centuries in Scotland.”

Abby nodded dutifully, keen to hear what Mr Sinclair had to tell her, whether it matched up with any of the increasingly fanciful things she’d imagined in the early hours while awake in her armchair.

“Lord Kane is a hero, fought in the Boer War. Indeed, he saved my life. We fought side by side in the same regiment.”

“I see,” said Abby, who had wondered if the war was responsible for her patient needing a nurse. So many soldiers had come back from South Africa with terrible injuries. One of her previous charges had been wounded early in the war, nothing life threatening, but he had told Abby a couple of stories of his time out there that had made her blood run cold.

“He was wounded by rounds from a pom-pom gun, which killed most of his comrades, and captured by Boer soldiers who inflicted atrocities upon him. I cannot tell you what they were in detail because he refuses to discuss it, but he has various wounds to his legs and stomach which are not healing and cause him great pain.”

“That is terrible,” said Abby, her heart going out to the wounded man. That would explain the cries she’d heard in the middle of the night.

“It is, yes. He came back from the war a changed man. He is difficult, I won’t hide that from you because there’s little point. You will see for yourself soon enough.”

“I should imagine being in constant pain would make anyone irritable.”

Mr Sinclair smiled ruefully. “He is more than irritable, but I want you to remember at all times that he is a hero, and he has been through sufferings we cannot imagine.”

“I will. I’ll bear all of that in mind. His sufferings must be great indeed, for last night I heard his cries.”

Mr Sinclair’s face grew dark. “You must not mention to him what you heard last night. Such talk is strictly forbidden.”

Abby was surprised at his response. “Why is it forbidden?”

“It is not for you to question my orders. Lord Kane is unlikely to ever fully recover and your task is to tend to his wounds and to keep him as comfortable as you can. That is all.”

They had given up on him, that was plain to see. Abby couldn’t make a diagnosis without seeing him of course, but she wasn’t about to write him off before she’d even started.

“There’s always hope,” she said.

“Hope can kill just like wounds, especially when it is raised in vain. You must not encourage him to believe something that isn’t possible. I say this because he is my friend. He doesn’t need yet more suffering.”

Abby felt tears prick her eyes. The man was speaking from the heart she had no doubt, but what was life without hope? She couldn’t agree with Mr Sinclair’s sentiment, but it wasn’t for her to question it, not on her first day. She’d make judgements for herself once she’d seen Lord Kane and come to know him.

“I will take the utmost care of him you can rest assured.”

“He has had many nurses in the months since he returned. We have yet to find someone strong enough to manage him.”

“You manage him, you and Mrs MacKay.”

“We care greatly for him,” he said simply, then he stood.

Abby stood with him, followed him out of the room and up the stairs. “I know something of suffering,” she said as they reached the fifth and final floor. “Not to the extent of Lord Kane, but I know what it is to endure. I will help him. I promise.”

Mr Sinclair nodded but he didn’t look convinced. He didn’t have to be. She would prove it with her actions.

They ended up outside a large oak door, and Mr Sinclair turned the ornate knob and pushed it open. The room beyond was dark, the curtains being closed. There was a smell of camphor and the room was stifling. A large four poster bed with deep red swags was the main feature. There was a long, covered bump within the bed and at the top of it was a dark head. Abby followed Mr Sinclair towards the bed and the man buried within it.

“This is the new nurse, my Lord, Miss Abby Griffin.”

The man turned his head slowly, his gaze landing on Abby, his dark eyes looking her up and down. He sighed and closed his eyes briefly before resuming his position staring at the ceiling.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Kane,” said Abby. There was no reply.

“I’ll leave you to get acquainted,” said Mr Sinclair, retreating towards the door. “I’ll be in my room next door should you need me.”

With that he was gone, and Abby was alone with the unresponsive Lord Marcus Kane. She put her medical bag on a table near the window.

“Shall I open the curtains?” she said. “See what kind of day we have.”

“No,” came a low voice.

“Very well.” She moved to his side, tried to look at him. “It is hard to examine you in the dark.”

“You do not need to examine me.”

“Are you in any pain?”

“No,” he muttered.

“There is no need to be stoic with me. I am here to help you.”

“I do not need any help. I wish only to be left alone.”

“So you can rot in here all by yourself? I think not.” Abby went over to the window, pulled back the heavy curtains despite his instructions to the contrary. They must be in the turret room because the window was bowed and gave a panoramic view. It was a beautiful late autumn day with pale blue skies and wispy clouds. The loch was shimmering silver below them. “It’s so beautiful!” she said, turning to look at Lord Kane.

“You’re one of those,” he mumbled.

“One of what?”

“Optimists.”

“I am not sure about that, but I don’t see how lying here in the dark is any good for you, and it’s far too hot. You must be dying under all those covers.”

“The heat is good for me.”

“Hmmm. We’ll see about that.”

She could see him more clearly in the light that streamed in from the window. He had dark brown wavy hair, strands of which were matted to his head with sweat. His eyes were an intense brown flecked with amber, and they were glaring at her, his thin lips pursed in a show of disapproval. He was pale from lack of sunlight, but he was handsome, or would be if he smiled.

“You are not the first, you know,” he said as she opened her medical bag and took out her stethoscope.

“The first what?”

“Nurse.”

She pulled back the covers a little to reveal the top of his black nightshirt. “So I have heard. There is a competition I believe.”

“What competition?” he said, a flash of interest lighting up his eyes briefly.

“For quickest departure.” She unbuttoned his shirt deftly, put her stethoscope on his chest and placed the other ends in her ears. “Take a deep breath,” she said, and to her surprise, he did. She moved the scope around his chest, tapping it, listening for signs of fluid.

“Do you think you’ll win?” he said.

Abby removed her scope from her ears, folded it up. “Indeed not. I expect to lose.”

Lord Kane looked intently at her, then resumed his study of the ceiling.

“Are you going to allow me to examine you? I will take no response as tacit approval.”

He didn’t respond, so she rolled the covers back further. He was buried beneath three layers of fine linen, the top one a silken comforter with an Indian design and below that was a heavy quilt. The final layer was a plain white cotton sheet. When all the layers were peeled back and she put her hand on his nightgown it was damp with sweat.

“I do not see how this is good for you,” she said, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt.

She opened it to reveal a slim, muscled body pockmarked with shrapnel scars. They were all shapes and sizes, most of the ones on his chest and arms newly healed but ridged with scar tissue and still a livid purple. His stomach and most of his legs were bandaged and she could tell his wounds here had become infected because the bandages were stained where fluid had leaked through.

“They have to be changed regularly,” he said, startling her because she hadn’t expected him to speak.

“Then I will do it now.” She looked around for dressings because she certainly didn’t have enough in her bag to take care of this number of wounds.

“In there,” he said, indicating a large wooden chest at the foot of the bed.

Abby went to it, opened the heavy lid which creaked on unoiled hinges. Inside were dressings of various sizes and other equipment and medicines including a large bottle of carbolic acid and cotton squares. She would have to examine this treasure trove thoroughly later. She took out a bowl, the acid and a variety of dressings and set them on the lid of the chest. She poured the carbolic acid and some water into the bowl in readiness.

She returned to Lord Kane. “Which area hurts the most?”

He frowned at her. “Stomach.”

“I’ll do that last.” She unrolled the dressings from his right leg as carefully as she could as his skin was stuck to them in places. He jumped nevertheless, and when she glanced at him he was grimacing, eyes clenched shut, lips curled back in pain. “I’m sorry,” she said.

He didn’t respond so she continued until the extent of his wounds was laid bare. She examined his legs carefully, noting that the injuries here were different to the ones on his chest, appeared to be wider and deeper and weren’t healing as they should and were suppurating. The infection wouldn’t help, but why did they present so differently? Was he in two different incidents?

“How long since you suffered these injuries?” she said, not expecting him to respond, but he did.

“Four months, three since I was brought home.”

Ah, yes, he’d been held captive by Boer soldiers. That might explain how the infection occurred if he wasn’t treated straight away, but why weren’t they healing while the ones on his chest and arms had? It was most strange.

“Just get on with it,” he growled, snapping Abby out of her thoughts.

“I am certain I don’t have to tell you this is going to sting,” she said, venturing a rueful smile. He closed his eyes in response and she saw his fingers clench around the cover beneath him.

She dipped squares of cloth into the carbolic acid mixture, wiped them gently over the wounds. There was nothing she could do to make the process any less painful, and he cried out when she touched the worst of them. She cleaned him as quickly and efficiently as she could, redressed both legs and then turned to his stomach. The wound beneath the bandage was jagged and ran from one side to the other. There was no way this had been caused by shrapnel from a gun. It looked like someone had tried to gut him. It wasn’t infected thank goodness and was healing better than the ones on his legs, but she imagined that certain movements were causing it to weep and slowing the healing process.

His cry when she cleaned the wound was almost soundless, the pain too great for him to articulate. He was pale and sweating by the time she’d finished and he was buttoned into his nightgown.

“What happened to you?” she said softly, moving to wipe his brow with a clean cloth.

“You may leave now,” he said, brushing her hand away.

“I’ve only just got here. Don’t you want to do something? I could read to you.”

“You’ve done your job.”

“My job is more than dressing your wounds every few hours. There are lots of ways I can help you.”

“Sinclair will bring you at the next appointed time. Good day.”

There was clearly no arguing with him, not this time at least. She was going to have to work hard to get him to do what she wanted.

“Very well. I will see you at the next appointed time.” She covered him with the bedclothes even though he was already too hot in her opinion, but she left the curtains open, ignoring his protestations as she picked up her cloak and bag and headed for the door. There was no way she was leaving him alone in the dark.

She bumped into Mr Sinclair as she stepped into the hallway. He must have been hovering, possibly trying to eavesdrop on her meeting with her patient.

“Is all well?” he said, moving her away from the door so the room’s occupant wouldn’t be able to hear.

“Yes. I have attended to his wounds and changed his dressings. The ones on his legs and stomach – they are not like the others. What caused those?”

“He won’t say, but those are the ones I think came about during his captivity.”

That made sense to Abby, because they didn’t appear to be the result of shrapnel or any normal act of war. “He is in a great deal of pain but I did not see any laudanum or other tincture to ease him. What is he taking?”

“Nothing. He refuses to take anything.”

“Gosh. That’s... why?”

“He won’t say, just refuses.”

“Very well. The room is too warm and dark. I have opened the curtains against his wishes and I would be grateful if you could leave them that way. The heat I will tackle another day.”

“He prefers to be in the dark. It soothes him.”

“He has been three months in the dark I take it?”

“More or less, yes.”

“And is he more soothed now than when he arrived?”

Mr Sinclair stared at her, sucking in his lips, biting on them.

“Well, then,” continued Abby. “Perhaps it is time to try a different way.” She moved past Mr Sinclair towards the stairs. “I’m going outside. What time am I expected to redress his wounds?”

“After lunch is the usual time, two o’clock.”

“I will be here.” She headed down the stairs, wrapping her cloak around her as she went.

Outside there was a slight chill in the air but it was as beautiful a morning as had been promised from her glimpse out of the window. She ran down the steps and across the grass, turning as she got to the lane to look up at the hall. There was Lord Kane’s room, at the top of the building in the turret. What was he doing stuck all the way up there? It was his childhood room, perhaps, and that gave him some comfort. He was shut away, though, far away from what little life there was in this house.

She hadn’t expected to have some time to herself, so she determined to make the most of it because she wasn’t going to allow him to dismiss her so easily for long. She didn’t know what he was afraid of. It was difficult, she supposed, having a stranger prod and poke at you, examining you critically, seeing you at your worst, seeing your pain, especially if it was a woman. They’d asked for a nurse, though, presumably with his consent as he seemed not to be shy about giving his orders and expecting them to be met. He was just going to have to learn to put up with her.

She headed down the track she’d driven along yesterday in the carriage, hoping there was a way from that down to the loch. The Hall nestled in a hollow some distance above the water and it was some time before a narrow track appeared. She took it, her skirts brushing against the ferns and the seed heads of the hemlock and hogweed that crowded the lower slopes of the hill. Eventually the path widened, and the flowers thinned until she was picking her way across rocks green and slippery with slimy seaweed. She was glad of her boots, which appeared to be strong of sole.

She arrived at last on the shore, the water’s edge some distance away. She knew from her research prior to coming that Loch Arkaig was a sea loch, so it would be subject to tides. That meant she would have to be careful, but also that there could be interesting finds on the shore. She walked with head bent, looking for something to catch her eye. There was a beautiful undamaged scallop shell, its pink and white rays spread out like a fan. She picked it up, put it in the pocket of her cloak. There were periwinkles galore, yellow and green rams’ horns polished by the sea. She collected those as well. She might create something from them, a picture, something to brighten up her room.

After an hour of careful examination she had a pocket full of shells and the tide was starting to turn. She headed back up the track to the main path, drawn to a colourful display of flowers on the edge of woodland close to the house. They were hydrangeas, on the wane but still a deep, rich red. She looked around, saw traces of stone terraces and broken walls. This must have been a landscape garden at one point, now left to its own devices. The hydrangeas were thriving amongst the undergrowth. She picked a few heads and some leafy stalks, carried them carefully back to the house.

Inside she went first to her room, gently emptying the shells onto the table. She’d wash them later. She took the flowers down to the kitchen where Harper was wielding a large knife against what looked like a pig carcass.

“Ye’re early fer dinner, Miss,” she said. “We’re having ham.”

“I’m not here for dinner, though it sounds lovely. I was actually wondering if you had something I can put these in?” She showed Harper the flowers.

“Hydrangeas. Them’s me favourites,” she said, putting the knife down and coming over to smell the flowers.

“I thought they might cheer up the master’s room.”

“Really?” said Harper, screwing her face up as though Abby had just told her something unbelievable.

“Yes, don’t you think?”

“They won’t last long, Miss. He never has any light in there.”

“He will from now on. Do you have a suitable vessel?”

“Aye, probably. Gimme a moment.” She disappeared into the pantry, came back a minute later with a jug that must be part of the tea set she’d served Abby from as it had the same pattern of red roses. “Will this do?”

“That looks lovely, thank you.” Abby took the jug from Harper, filled it with water then arranged the flowers in it, trimming where necessary to form a nice shape. “What do you think?”

“They look grand, Miss. I doubt he’ll appreciate them, but it’s a lovely thought.”

“If he doesn’t appreciate them they’ll at least be nice to look at for us when we go into his room, won’t they.”

“That’s very true, Miss. I shall enjoy to look at them.”

“What time is dinner?” Abby said, her stomach rumbling at the smell of the ham.

“I’ll tek his Lordship’s up at midday then ye can come here at one and we’ll have ours. How do ye like yer ham cut?”

“The thinner the better,” said Abby. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“That’s very kind, Miss, but no. Enjoy yer freedom.”

Abby took the jug of flowers up to her room and spent the time before dinner cleaning the seashells in her basin and contemplating what design she could make out of them.

After dinner which again didn’t involve Mrs MacKay or Mr Sinclair, Abby returned to Lord Kane’s room, medical bag in one hand, jug of flowers in the other. Her heart was beating faster than usual because she was unsure what he was going to say about the flowers, or rather she WAS sure what he would say and didn’t think it would be good. Tough, she told herself. Lord Kane needed shaking up, had to learn he couldn’t have his own way all the time.

She opened the door to find Mr Sinclair sitting in a chair near to the bed. It was dark again, the curtains having been closed. Abby went over to them, pulled them back.

“That’s better,” she said. She turned to the two men. “I found some lovely flowers in the woodland. They’re just the thing to brighten up the room, do you not think?” She placed the jug on the dressing table near the window without waiting for an answer, then she went to the chest, opened it and took out the equipment she needed.

“I’ll leave you to it,” said Mr Sinclair, giving Abby a warmer smile than he had hitherto as he left.

“What do you think to the flowers?” she said to Lord Kane as she pulled back his covers and unbuttoned his shirt.

“They’re faded,” he said.

“Incorrect,” said Abby, unravelling the bandages on his legs. “Hydrangeas deepen in colour as they die. I think they look very pretty as they do it, don’t you? We can all only hope to be as lovely as we fade.”

She looked up to see him staring at her his mouth slightly open as though he was about to speak, but no words came out.

“I went down to the loch shore earlier, found some beautiful shells. You are very lucky to live here. I expect you did a lot of exploring when you were a child.”

She bathed his wounds as she spoke, telling him about the shells she’d collected, what she planned to do with them. He still cried out at the worst parts, gripped the sheets as he had before, but she hoped she had provided some distraction, however small.

He dismissed her again immediately after she was finished, and that formed the pattern for the next visit as well. Abby spent the hours before bed in her room, making notes on Lord Kane’s condition, and what she knew about his history. He was something of a mystery with his wounds that wouldn’t heal and his night-time cries. She’d expected Mrs MacKay or Mr Sinclair to tell her to be ready to respond should she be needed in the night but they did not. She examined the only medical textbook she owned, but it had nothing to say about chronic wounds or what caused them. She’d have to apply for further information to the library in Inverness.

She got into bed and snuffed out the candle. She expected to be woken again in the early hours by Lord Kane’s cries, but he either didn’t make any or she didn’t hear them, for when she next awoke it was six o’clock and time to get dressed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby and Lord Kane reach an impasse. Part of the mystery surrounding his wounds is revealed but only leads to more questions.

“It is a special day today, Lord Kane,” Abby said as she pulled open the curtains to reveal a somewhat dull day that didn’t match up to her words, not that she was talking about the weather.

“Why?” he mumbled, which she took to be a sign of great interest.

“As of today, I have outlasted all your previous nurses. Two weeks and one day, what do you say to that?”

“Perhaps Harper will bake you a cake if you ask her.”

He probably meant his response to be sarcastic or dismissive, but Abby was pleased with it, because they were the most words he’d spoken to her since she’d taken up her post as his nurse, and they represented an interaction beyond a grunt or a yes and no.

“Do you think she will? I will ask.” She grinned at him, then pulled back his covers. “Let’s see where we are today, shall we?”

She examined his wounds methodically. “There’s definite improvement in this area,” she said, pressing gently at the edges of the wound in his stomach. He winced but didn’t cry out which she took to mean it hurt less as well. “I’m really pleased with your progress.”

She looked up and smiled warmly at him, receiving a blank stare in return. “Your leg wounds are still a mystery, however. I’ve ordered a book from the library in Inverness, it should arrive today on the train. I’m hoping that will give me some insight.”

She took her time swabbing his legs then dressing them. “An amazing thing happened last night,” she said as she put the equipment away in the chest. “I couldn’t sleep, and I was sitting by the window in my armchair staring out at the sky when I saw a star fall. It was just one at first, and then another, and soon there were dozens of them, shooting across the black night. They would flare briefly and then fade. They were very beautiful.”

She got up, went over to the bed and pulled the covers over him. “Have you ever seen them?”

“It’s just dust,” he replied.

“Oh, have you read that paper by Schiaparelli too? You say it’s just dust as though that’s not a remarkable thing! I read something a while back that posited that the dust is from rocks that fly around above us! Imagine that! They might be the remains of planets. Maybe there’s another Earth somewhere with people just like us. Do you ever think about that? There are so many wonders out there we know nothing about yet. I’m so thankful we live in these times when so much is being discovered and explained. Although,” she said, brushing a loose, damp curl from his eye before he could stop her. “Sometimes I think it’s nicer not to know. Perhaps it is more romantic to think of them as shooting stars rather than dust as you say.”

“I suppose you love rainbows too.” His eyebrows raised a fraction as he said this as though he was goading her.

“They’re just white light, aren’t they?” Abby smirked at him, then crossed the room towards the door without looking back.

She stood outside and thought about what had happened. Progress not only with his wounds but also the man himself she thought. They’d had what amounted in this strange world they inhabited to a conversation. It was most pleasing, and she hurried up to her room to make notes.

An hour later she was sitting in the kitchen reading as Harper busied herself preparing dinner. She put down her book when her eyes grew tired. “I’ve been here longer than all the other nurses as of today, Harper.”

“I’m not surprised, Miss. It feels like ye’ve been here forever. I don’t mean that bad, like. Ye’ve fitted in.” She smiled shyly.

“That’s very kind of you. I feel at home I must say. When I’m in here at least.”

“The master still being difficult with thee?”

“I’m starting to think that’s his personality anyway, even before his injuries.”

“Oh, no, Miss. He could be sociable before, not that we saw a lot of him. He was up at university in Saint Andrews fer a few years, was the most handsome man there I believe, least that’s what he told us.”

“I hadn’t realised he’d been to university.”

“Aye, and he weren’t home long afore he went off tae war.”

“What possessed him to fight over there? Was he conscripted?”

“He volunteered, Miss, saw it as his duty. Ye know what young men are like, full of fighting spirit.”

“I do.”

She tried to imagine Lord Kane debating at university, strategizing with his men in the army, being animated, full of life. It was hard to do because he was so devoid of those things now, reduced to a few words and grunts and his cries of pain. Her heart went out to him. He was still a young man who should be out at parties, meeting people, having fun, and his life had become four walls, and a handful of trusted people. She hoped she was one of them or would be in time.

“Does Lord Kane have a favourite cake?” she asked Harper.

“I dunno, Miss. He used tae be partial tae Dundee Cake.”

“When I was with him earlier, he said perhaps you could make one to celebrate my outlasting all his previous nurses. Do you think you could?”

“Did he say that, Miss?”

“Yes.” He had, so it wasn’t a lie, although he’d meant it as sarcasm rather than as a genuine suggestion. Still, it wouldn’t harm to call his bluff. She might draw more than just a raised eyebrow from him, a hint of a smile perhaps. “I’ll help you if you show me what to do.”

“If the master wants it of course I’ll do it. I’ll get the ingredients for thee.”

Abby spent an enjoyable couple of hours baking with Harper. The cake came out of the oven looking and smelling wonderful, and Harper put it on the windowsill to cool.

“I’ll take him a slice when I go in later. It will be a nice surprise for him.” Abby wafted the cake so its scent aroused her nostrils. “It smells so good.”

At two on the dot she hurried up the stairs with two slices of the cake hidden in her medical bag. Lord Kane was alone, the curtains still open as they were more often now that Mr Sinclair had given up fighting her on the subject. Abby stoked the fire first because there was a chill in the air and for once some heat was needed in the room. She got her equipment from the chest then sat in the chair next to the bed.

“How are you feeling?” she said, hopeful as always to elicit a response, though she never had so far.

He turned slowly to look at her, his eyes half lidded as though he was tired. “Don’t you ever give up?” he said.

“No. I wouldn’t be much good as a nurse if I did.”

He sighed and closed his eyes. “Get on with it,” he muttered.

Abby undressed him, went through her routine as calmly and methodically as always. She didn’t talk much because the main thing she had to tell him was about the baking and she wanted the cake to be a surprise. When she’d finished, she put her medical bag on his bed and opened it.

“I have a surprise for you,” she said. “I did as you asked, and I got Harper to make a cake.” She pulled out two plates and unwrapped the slices of cake. “I thought we could take a minute and celebrate.”

She held out the plate to him but he brushed her hand away.

“Harper said it’s your favourite. I think it smells wonderful.” She offered it to him again and this time he knocked her hand away forcefully and the cake and plate went flying across the room, smashing on the floor.

“I don’t want you here!” he said, his voice rising. “Why don’t you take a hint? You’re relentless, or just plain bloody ignorant, I don’t know which!”

“Well, gosh!” said Abby, who was stung but determined not to show it. “Three whole sentences! This really is a day for celebration.”

Lord Kane put his hands to his face, fingers covering his eyes. “I can’t get rid of you. I can’t do anything! You’re just here, constantly, like a bee buzzing in my ear. You can’t help me, why don’t you realise that?”

“I AM helping you,” said Abby, trying to keep her voice calm. “Your wounds are better and we’re having an actual conversation now, not a pleasant one, but it’s still progress in my book.”

Lord Kane shook his head. “No matter what I say, you do what you want anyway. Do you know what it’s like to have your will overridden every day? To have no power in your own home?”

“I am a woman, so yes I do know what that’s like. Do you know what it took for me to become a nurse? You’ve probably never even considered it or me, what I’ve had to sacrifice. Why am I out here in the middle of nowhere looking after you, have you thought about that? Of course not, because you’re selfish and self-centred.”

“You can’t talk to me like that!”

“Why not? Do you find it rude? I’m only following your lead, sir. You have been nothing but rude to me since day one.”

He glared at her, his face reddening as his anger grew. Abby couldn’t quite believe the words that had come out of her mouth, but she wasn’t going to be treated like this by him. Grunts and silence were one thing, being spoken to in such a manner quite another. She knew what he was doing, trying to push her away. He didn’t want people getting close to him for some reason, refused to let them in, other than Mr Sinclair and Mrs MacKay, and she wasn’t convinced they were much closer than she was. Mr Sinclair didn’t know what had happened in South Africa, and they both indulged him, treated him like a fragile bird. It had to stop, or he would never recover. She endured his stare, responding with one of her own.

“I do not need your help,” he said enunciating each word through gritted teeth.

“Yes, you do, and the sooner you come to terms with that the easier it will be for all of us.” She stood, brushing off some of the crumbs that had fallen from the flying cake. “I am not going anywhere, no matter how many tantrums you have or cakes you assault.”

She placed her slice of cake on the dressing table. “Perhaps Mr Sinclair can give that to you later if you want it. I will leave you to organise someone to clear up your mess. I’ll return at eight to tend to your wounds.”

She left him without looking back, stood at the top of the stairs with her heart thumping in her chest. Had she gone too far with him? He’d provoked her, which he was probably trying to do, but if he thought she’d wilt like a flower at his words he was wrong. It just made her more determined. As she started to head down the stairs Mr Sinclair’s door opened, and the man came out.

“I heard shouting,” he said. “What happened?”

“Your master was hoping some strong words would deter me so he can continue with his life in the dark.”

“He didn’t succeed I take it?” said Mr Sinclair with a half smile.

“No, and I would be grateful if you would stop indulging his every whim. He’s become like a child throwing fits when he doesn’t get his way.”

“I think he has earned the right to be however he wants to be. He’s been through hell as I have told you.”

“Yes, and you also told me he was a changed man. I do not pretend to be able to heal the wounds of his mind, but I’d have thought as his friend who cares about him you would want to encourage anything that can restore even a little of his previous humour. Lying in the dark alone day after day, month after month, is not going to do that.”

“What do you propose we do?”

“For now we carry on and we try to indulge him less. I have books arriving on the afternoon train that I hope will help me better understand his physical and mental wounds. Once I have absorbed their knowledge, I propose we hold a meeting and create a plan of action.”

Mr Sinclair shook his head.

“Do you disagree?” said Abby.

“No. I was...” he sighed, though not unhappily. “I expect the day we received your application will become an event to be marked on the calendar.”

“Let’s save that for the day we see some genuine progress in our patient.”

Abby continued down the stairs, spent the next hour hovering around the great hall, looking for the carriage that would bring her what she hoped would be everything she needed to start to finally heal Lord Kane.

At half past four as the sun was setting over the loch below and darkness was falling Abby at last heard the clip of the horses’ hooves. She went out to greet Monty, followed by Harper and Charlotte. Together they unloaded the carriage of provisions.

“Did my package arrive?” said Abby anxiously.

“Yes, Miss. I kept it safe in the vegetable box.”

“Thank you,” said Abby, following the girls into the kitchen and pouncing on the vegetable box the moment it was set down. She found her brown paper parcel tucked beside the potatoes and brushed off the dirt before taking it upstairs to her room. She slit the string with her knife and carefully unwrapped the paper.

The first book was _The Principles of Psychology_ by William James. She had become most interested in what this book had to say, because she was starting to believe that Lord Kane’s mind had been injured during his time in captivity, and was wondering whether that could somehow be delaying his physical recovery, or if it was the other way around. She flicked through the pages of the book; there were sections on emotion and will and she couldn’t wait to start reading.

The other book was an English translation of Conrad Brunner’s book on wound management and disinfection methods. She was hopeful there would be something new, some technique she had hitherto not read about that would encourage his leg wounds to heal. There were just under two hours until dinner, so she settled into her armchair and started reading the psychology book.

Sometime later she was startled by a knock on her door. She glanced at the clock, it was gone seven, she’d completely missed dinner.

“Come in,” she said, and Charlotte entered clutching a plate covered with a cloth.

She glanced at Abby then set the plate on the table next to her. “From Miss Harper,” she mumbled.

“Thank you, Charlotte. It’s very kind of you and Harper to bring this to me.”

Charlotte blushed then turned and headed for the door.

“Won’t you sit with me a moment? I don’t like to eat alone.”

“I got me work, Miss.”

“Oh, of course. I wouldn’t want to keep you from that. You do such a wonderful job.”

Charlotte hesitated, then walked to the bed, plonked down on it, her short legs swinging over the side. Abby took the cloth off the plate to reveal a slice of meat pie and some warm mashed potatoes.

“Meat pie is my favourite!” she said, smiling at Charlotte. “Have you eaten your meal?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Do you like meat pie?”

Charlotte nodded, looked up at Abby shyly through her long, blonde eyelashes.

“Have you been at the Hall long?” said Abby, keen to take this opportunity to find out more about the young girl.

“All me life, Miss.”

“Really? Gosh, you must know everything that happens here.”

“I do!”

“Do you remember the master when he was younger?”

Charlotte nodded. “He was funny. He’d mek me hide from him then find me, but sometimes he couldnae cause I knows all the secret places here more than him.”

“I bet you do! You will have to show me one day. I’d love to explore the Hall more.”

“I can show ye.”

“Miss Harper isn’t your sister, is she?”

“No, Miss.”

“I thought not. Do you have any family here?”

Charlotte shook her head vigorously.

“I see. Do you know what happened to your parents?”

“I had a mam I think but I don’t member her.”

“So who looked after you when your mam was no longer here?”

Charlotte shrugged. “Everyone. Yer not eatin yer dinner, Miss.”

Abby looked at her plate which was still untouched. “You’re right, I’d better get on with that before it gets cold.”

She ate the pie and mash under the watchful gaze of Charlotte, who seemed more at ease than when she’d first arrived. An orphan child with unknown parentage who’d been at the Hall her entire life and had been kept on and raised en masse or so it seemed. Abby was intrigued, but she didn’t think she’d get any more of the story out of the young girl. She’d have to question Harper again at some point.

When she’d finished the meal, Charlotte took the empty plate away and Abby got ready to go and see Lord Kane for the final time that day. She had no idea what to expect, or whether she’d even be admitted to his chamber. She felt nervous, not so much about what he’d say but about whether he had decided he really didn’t want her here and had instructed her removal. She didn’t want to leave, not yet. She liked the strange little family that had formed here, and even him, with his pain and his torment, tantrums and silences. He was a mystery she was determined to solve, but she couldn’t do that if she wasn’t here.

She knocked before entering, pushing the door open gently and peering inside, half expecting to see Mr Sinclair standing with arms crossed like one of those armoured guards in the great hall, barring her entry to his Lordship. There was no one except her patient lying as usual in his bed. The curtains were closed now as it was dark, the fire roaring in the grate. Candles cast the room in a warm glow. She approached the bed, glancing at the floor where the broken plate and smashed cake had landed. There was no trace of them.

“Good evening,” she said to the shape in the bed who was barely visible above the bedclothes, only the top half of his head on display, his dark curls, haunted eyes and long, imperious nose.

“Good evening,” he replied, surprising her.

“May I proceed?”

“You may.”

This was better than she’d expected, but she didn’t get her hopes up; she was determined not to do that after what had happened earlier.

She rolled back the bedclothes, unbuttoned his nightshirt, laid him bare to her view. She rubbed some salve into the scars on his chest and arms to relieve their itchiness. Then she went into her routine on the rest of his body, cleaning his wounds, dressing them. She didn’t speak, just worked patiently and efficiently.

When he was bandaged and re-covered, she stood and looked at him. “I was thinking we might start some light massaging of the muscles in your arms and legs.”

He opened his eyes. “Why?”

“You’ve been lying here for nigh on three months. We don’t want your muscles wasting away.”

“There’s no point.”

“Then it won’t hurt to try, will it?”

He didn’t answer, but she hadn’t expected him to; he would need some time to get used to the idea. She wasn’t going to push it, just plant the seed.

She fastened her bag, straightened the covers around him, folding the comforter down so it didn’t suffocate him like it had before. “No point hiding this handsome face,” she said.

She was halfway to the door when he spoke. “The plate is on the dressing table.”

She looked across; saw the remains of the slice she’d left him earlier. She went over, picked up the plate. “I’ll give Harper your thanks,” she said, then she left, closing the door behind her with a smile.

Two days later she was woken in the middle of the night by the cries she’d heard when she’d first arrived. She pulled on her dressing gown, took up her candle and hurried down the corridor towards the grand staircase. This time she didn’t hesitate at the door, she went through and up the stairs towards Lord Kane’s room. As she approached, she could hear voices, Mr Sinclair and Mrs MacKay. She opened the door, strode inside.

Lord Kane was thrashing around in the bed, crying loudly, and Mr Sinclair and Mrs MacKay were trying to hold him down. As Abby drew closer she saw he was clawing at himself, at his bandages, which were hanging off his legs.

“What’s going on?” she said, and Mrs MacKay and Mr Sinclair both turned sharply.

“Nothing that concerns you,” said Mrs MacKay.

“He’s my patient, of course it concerns me.”

Abby moved to the other side of the bed. Lord Kane was shouting things she couldn’t understand, making stabbing motions towards his legs. Mrs MacKay and Mr Sinclair were trying to hold him back. Abby observed Lord Kane closely. He didn’t seem to be conscious of what he was doing. She got on the bed next to him, took him into her arms. He tried to fight her, but she held him tight.

“It’s alright,” she whispered. “You’re at home. You’re safe.” She stroked his damp hair, held his head against her bosom. “You’re safe. You’re safe.”

She rocked him, like a mother with a child, and after a moment he quieted, and she eased her grip on him, laid him back on the bed. He fell immediately to sleep, not that she was sure he’d been awake before, just in some kind of trance or dream state.

She looked down at his legs. There was blood where he’d managed to claw at a couple of his wounds. Was this why they weren’t healing? She looked up at Mr Sinclair and Mrs MacKay with a frown.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Since his return, well since I found him,” said Mr Sinclair. “We can’t stop it.”

“You should have told me.” She went to the chest, got her equipment and cleaned up the wound on the injured leg. “Have you been cleaning him after this?”

“We do what’s necessary,” said Mrs MacKay.

“And you didn’t think I needed to know!” Abby covered Lord Kane up and walked to the corner of the room, giving the two so-called friends a look that told them to follow her.

“Why didn’t you tell me? This could explain a lot about his behaviour and his wound management.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s doing,” said Mr Sinclair. “We don’t want him to know, he would be mortified.”

“We don’t want knowledge of his madness getting out,” said Mrs MacKay. “He could lose everything.”

“He is not mad!” said Abby, exasperated at the ignorance and prejudice the two were displaying. “He’s ill, that is all. He needs special care.”

“And you think you know what to do, do you?” Mrs MacKay looked at Abby with contempt.

“Well, I certainly can’t do any worse than you two! Good Lord! I knew there was something else.” She glared at them, then she saw their pale faces, the worried brow of Mr Sinclair, the glint in the eyes of Mrs MacKay that could be mistaken for tears. They cared for him; were terribly misguided, but caring nevertheless.

“We will discuss this further in the morning. In the meantime, someone should stay with him.”

“I will stay with him. I always do,” said Mr Sinclair.

“Very well. I would like to see you both in the sitting room in the morning. It’s time you told me everything. We can help him, but we have to work together.”

Mr Sinclair nodded, and Mrs MacKay sighed but gave a brief nod. Abby left them to whatever they normally did after one of these nights, returned to her bedroom. When she got into bed she realised she was shaking and it wasn’t from the cold. Poor Lord Kane! He was having night terrors and God knows what horrible things were tormenting him, things that caused him to injure himself again and again. She’d read earlier that emotion was the consequence of bodily experiences. Whatever he had gone through at the hands of the Boer soldiers had upset the balance of his emotions and was perhaps causing him to re-enact those experiences in his sleep.

She pulled the blankets tighter around her, tried to will herself to sleep. She had a lot to do tomorrow, had to finish her book. She must start to treat his mind as well as his body. There was no time to wait.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby makes progress with some of the more stubborn inhabitants of Arkaig Hall

After breakfast and an unremarkable visit to her patient who seemed unaware of the events of the night before, Abby met Mrs MacKay and Mr Sinclair in the sitting room. They sat on the sofa and Abby angled one of the armchairs to face them. She’d built a fire in the grate, and the room was slowly warming.

“I wish to discuss Lord Kane and what has been happening. I know that you both want to help him, and you think you are doing what is right, but I’m sure you can see that it isn’t working. By Mr Sinclair’s own admission he is no better than when he returned. Indeed I overheard you say, Mrs MacKay, that he is worse than ever.”

“When did you?” said Mrs MacKay, frowning.

“It doesn’t matter when or how I heard it. Are you both in agreement that the care given so far, particularly to his disorder of the mind, is not working?”

“His madness cannot be cured, Miss Griffin,” said Mrs MacKay.

“Is this a diagnosis you have been given by a psychologist or physician?”

“No, he has not been seen by anyone since he first returned apart from us, and now you.”

Abby was shocked and angry and couldn’t hide it in her voice. These people were playing God with their young charge. “I do not understand why you are hiding him away. What do you hope to gain by this? He needs treatment, help.”

Mrs MacKay and Mr Sinclair swapped looks, the former nodding as though to agree to whatever unspoken conversation they were having. It was Mr Sinclair who told Abby the true story.

“We have kept this quiet for two reasons. Firstly, as I told you last night, Lord Kane doesn’t know he has this night madness. He is melancholic enough and we fear that if he knew what he was doing to himself unconsciously it would worsen his condition. Secondly, Lord Kane has a cousin, his father’s brother’s son, who is older and considers himself to have a claim to the estate. While we were fighting in South Africa, this man tried to insinuate himself at the Hall in Lord Kane’s absence. Fortunately, Mrs MacKay is not someone to be easily intimidated, and she had the presence of mind to inform the solicitor and his intervention saw the man off. We are afraid, however, that if he knows the extent of Lord Kane’s illness, and of his madness, that he will have him declared incompetent and take over the estate.”

“Nasty, horrible wee man,” spat Mrs MacKay.

“Can he do that?” said Abby, horrified at the thought.

“The solicitor says he can. This land may not look like much, but it could be extremely profitable. Lord Kane’s grandfather was one of the few landowners to resist clearing his land of people in the last century and to this day the Kane estate maintains close links with its crofting tenants. It isn’t very economical, but we keep the estate team small and manageable. Lord Kane’s cousin wants to make money by turning out the crofters and putting sheep on the land as though it is a hundred years ago! Lord Kane might not be in a fit state to take notice of what is happening within the estate at the moment, but he would not want that to happen.”

“I had no idea this threat existed.”

“It is not for the nurses to know,” said Mrs MacKay.

“I am not the other nurses,” replied Abby more calmly than she felt at the woman’s slight. “I am willing to dedicate myself to the master’s recovery so that he can return to his estate duties and resume his life.”

“You are talking of things that may not be possible. I must impress upon you again that to give him false hope would be cruel,” said Mr Sinclair.

“We don’t need to give him hope false or otherwise. Does a general reveal all his battle plans to his troops? No, he tells them what they need to know when they need to know it. That is what we shall do with Lord Kane. We will encourage him subtly. Engage him in different topics and with news and information. Mr Sinclair, I believe you should still discuss estate business with him even if he appears not to be interested.

“Mrs MacKay, I believe he needs a change of scenery. It is not good for him to be alone in that room five storeys away from what is happening in the rest of the house. I would like us to find a suitable room on the ground floor, one where he can have a view and be taken outside easily.”

“Miss Griffin, that really is quite impossible!” Mrs MacKay said, her Glaswegian accent strengthening along with her outrage. “That is Lord Kane’s childhood room! It is his sanctuary, and besides there is nowhere suitable for a man such as him on the ground floor.”

“It is his prison, not his sanctuary, and I find it hard to believe that in a house this size there is no suitable room. I shall investigate myself and report back to you.”

“He is going to cotton on to what we are doing,” said Mr Sinclair. “He’s a very clever man.”

“That is why we must be subtle, take our time. At some point, Lord Kane must decide whether he wants to participate in his own recovery or not. I believe that we can influence his will and affect the health of his mind by giving him positive experiences that will also help heal his body, but it will take time. Winter is almost upon us, and I propose we take these months to put our plan into action, prepare a room for him, stimulate his mind, and enhance his body’s healing. With the coming of spring, I should hope to see progress.”

She sat back and observed her two companions. She could imagine how she looked to them, an uppity young girl with delusions of being more than she was. She was aware she had swept into this house and brushed them and their methods aside. They were wrong, though, they had to see that. There was no time for niceties when a young man’s health and possibly life was at stake.

Mr Sinclair would be more willing than Mrs MacKay, she could see that in the way they were sitting, he forward with his hands clasped in front of him, she back, her arms crossed, her lips set in a thin line. They loved Lord Kane, though, and that was what she was counting on.

“I don’t see how what you are proposing can cause any harm,” said Mr Sinclair after an interminable amount of time.

Abby smiled, turned her attention to the housekeeper. “And you, Mrs MacKay? It needs all of us to be in agreement for this to work.”

“I am doubtful that the master’s condition can be reversed, and I don’t see how we can move him from his room, or if we should.”

She’d said all this before, but Abby didn’t need for her to have changed her mind, only for her to agree to try.

Mrs MacKay stood, brushed down her black skirts. “Four months until spring,” she said, and then she left, heading towards the kitchen.

“I accept the challenge,” said Abby to her retreating back. Mr Sinclair was smiling behind his hand. Abby raised her eyebrows to him. “You are the key. You’re his trusted right-hand man. He may one day start to speak to you about his experiences at the hands of the Boers. If he does, you should listen without comment if possible, and tell me what he says.”

“I have tried, you know,” he said softly. “He refuses to discuss it.”

“I know. We must tread carefully, be patient, but push a little and keep pushing even when he pushes back.”

Mr Sinclair stood, and Abby stood with him. “You are astonishing for one so young, Miss Griffin. How do you know so much?”

“All my life people have told me what I cannot do, particularly as a woman. I decided to find out what I can do, and I strive for knowledge every day. In other words, I read a lot, and please call me Abby. Miss Griffin is so formal.”

“I’m Sinclair. Everyone calls me that.” He held out his hand and Abby shook it, feeling as though this was the start of a new contract between them.

\---

Cold and a strong wind prevented Abby from going outside, so she spent the rest of the morning exploring the house for possible rooms for Lord Kane. The sitting room was the obvious choice, because it had a large window with a beautiful view of the distant loch, but it was adjacent to the dining room which again was close to the kitchen and therefore a lot of people would come through. One of the rooms at the rear of the house was the best option. It was a good size and had an adjacent room suitable for Sinclair who would need to move as well, Abby realised. Unfortunately, there was no view other than the heather hill behind, which also made the rooms on the ground floor dark. It was imperative he had good light and a view.

She returned to the sitting room, headed towards the kitchen. Harper and Charlotte were scrubbing pans.

“Is there another entrance to here apart from the back door and the one I just came through?” she said after the girls had greeted her.

“Through the pantry, Miss. Ye can get to the back o’ the stairs,” said Harper.

“Can you show me?”

“I’ll tek thee,” said Charlotte and she opened the pantry door.

Abby followed her into the large room lined with shelves. Meats of various kinds hung from large hooks in the ceiling. The room was cold, but no more so than many of the other rooms in the house that were unheated. Abby felt a small hand slip into hers as they crossed to a door at the rear.

“This way, Miss.”

Abby grasped Charlotte’s hand and they went through the door and into a wide passageway at the end of which loomed the great, stone bulk of the back of the grand staircase.

“This seems fine,” said Abby, looking around.

“What’s thee thinking, Miss?”

“I’m thinking about how best to help the master.”

“He’s a good master.”

“He is.” Abby led Charlotte through the grand hall and back to the sitting room. This really would be the perfect room for Lord Kane. It had views on two sides at the front, and Sinclair could be next door in the dining room. He could access that via the kitchen and the pantry so he wouldn’t have to go through the main chamber every time he wanted to come and go. “I think we’ve got this, Charlotte. Now all I have to do is persuade Mrs MacKay.”

“She dinnae like nothing, Miss.”

“I know.” Abby sat on the sofa so she could think. Charlotte sat close, her small, warm body against Abby’s. Abby wondered if she was starved for affection. Possibly, as there was only Harper really and she was always busy.

“Miss Harper says it’s cos she’s been widdered too long.”

“What is caused by her being widowed?”

“Mrs MacKay temper. Miss Harper says a man’s touch would tek the mean oot o’ her.”

“Does she now?” Abby couldn’t help but laugh at Charlotte’s words and the serious look on her childish face. “And what does Harper know about that?”

Charlotte shrugged. “The master’s the only one Mrs MacKay likes.”

“Has she been with him long?”

“Yes, long. All me life.”

“Yes.” Abby smiled, put her arm around Charlotte bringing her into a half hug. “Harper told me you don’t want to go to school. Don’t you like learning?”

Charlotte’s blonde hair rustled against Abby’s sleeve as she shook her head.

“What about your letters? Wouldn’t you like to know those?”

“Master Kane teached me before he went away but he didnae come back the same.”

“I know.” Abby squeezed Charlotte’s shoulder. “I expect you miss him.”

Charlotte put her small arm around Abby’s waist, rested her head on her bosom. Abby stroked her hair, pressed a kiss on her warm head. “We’ll get him back, I promise. Maybe I can do your letters with you in the meantime. Would you like that?”

Charlotte’s shoulders heaved again in what Abby took to be a shrug. It wasn’t an outright no, so that was something.

\---

That afternoon she went to visit Lord Kane as usual, armed with the last of the hydrangeas to put in the jug and some paper and a pen. She was determined to extend the length of her visits with him gradually over time, which would take some ingenuity if he wasn’t to realise what she was doing.

He was sitting more upright, his hands folded over the comforter. He was still pale, which wasn’t a surprise given he hadn’t seen proper daylight for months, but his eyes seemed brighter, more alert.

“Good afternoon!” she said, going over to the chest of drawers. “This is the last of the flowers. We’ll have to wait for spring now to have some more colour.” She removed the old flowers, replaced them with the new, taking her time with the arrangement. “It’s so cold out today, and the wind! All I can say is you are lucky still to have me, as I thought for a moment I would be swept up into the sky and blown away. I think that might be quite nice, to soar like a bird. Imagine the view you would have from up there. Of course, as soon as the wind died down I’d drop like a stone having no wings, so that would be less pleasant.”

She went over to him, smiling as she pulled back his covers and went into her routine. “I’d like to do an inventory of the equipment in the chest. We are running short of supplies and I want to order some calamine lotion for these scars. I think it will be better than the camphor.” She rubbed the camphor over his arms and chest. “They’re looking so much better, though. Is the itchiness improved at all?”

“No.” He touched one of the more inflamed scars after she’d finished, tracing the ridge. “They are ugly.”

“They are not yet fully healed.”

He closed his eyes and sighed. Abby worked on his stomach and legs quietly, giving him a break from her chatter. She hadn’t considered his vanity before, looking at him only as a mystery to be solved and a wound to be healed. He’d described himself as the most handsome man at his university according to Harper and now here he was in the prime of his youth covered in scars which would leave his body ridged and furrowed, his olive skin mottled pink and purple. He would never be the same man again in body or soul, no matter how great the improvements he made. Perhaps he thought no woman would ever want him or love him, and with the attitude he currently had that might be the case. It would be hard to see beyond the rude, taciturn man lying in the bed to the clever, sensitive one beneath.

Abby looked up at his face while she worked. He was lying back with his eyes closed, clutching the sheets as usual even though she was being as gentle as possible. He’d had a high opinion of himself, but it wasn’t without merit. All his features were perfectly arranged, and even the slight bend of his long nose suited him. He had excellent bone structure and his body was still strong and lean and he’d clearly had good musculature before the incident. His muscles were softening now from lying abed so long, which was why she wanted to start the massaging. She’d wait a week, and then ask again. His stomach wound had stretched during his night terror and was weeping again. Until that was healed it would be too painful to get him out of bed.

When he was covered again, she stood at the foot of the bed cataloguing the items in the chest. “I forgot to tell you my book came, the one about wound management. There is a new type of gauze that has been sterilised by heat processing. It won’t stick to your wounds and promotes healing. I was considering adding it to my order so we can try it out. What do you think?”

“What is the book?” he said, levering himself into a sitting position with a grimace.

“Experiences and studies on wound infection and wound treatment by Conrad Brunner. It has just been translated into English. I am the first person to borrow it from the Inverness public library!” She smiled proudly at him before shutting the lid of the chest and moving to stand by his side.

“Hmmm,” he said, pursing his lips. “Anything to stop you tearing my skin off three times a day.”

Abby leaned over him, turning his comforter back neatly. “I do that just to annoy you,” she murmured. She gave him the double eyebrow raise he’d given her the other day and could swear she saw a minute twitch of his lips in response, just a small tug on one side. It was gone as suddenly as it appeared, and it was possible she’d imagined it. It made her feel good nevertheless. She stepped back. “I shall see you tonight.” She turned to head towards the doorway, and he spoke again.

“Bring the book.”

She looked back. “About the wounds?”

“Yes. I should like to see for myself.”

“Then I will bring it.” She walked out of the room as though on a cloud, her step light even though her heart was full. He was interested in something at last, and more than that, it was his own care. That had to be a good sign!

\---

When she’d finished with Lord Kane’s evening care, Abby sat in the chair next to his bed and thumbed through the book on wound management.

“Here is the section discussing the gauze,” she said, handing the open book to Lord Kane. She could have just given him the book and left but she’d decided to use it as an opportunity to see if he would engage further.

He took the book from her and started to read, not speaking but equally not asking her to leave. Abby sat quietly, looking around his room. She’d lit a few candles so he had plenty of light in addition to the oil lamps by which to read. This was his childhood room Mrs MacKay had said. She’d never examined it closely because she was never in here long enough. It was an odd-shaped room being up at the top beneath the eaves. The turret windows were large and curved and faced the bed but the only view out of them was the sky. The walls and the curtains and swags around the four-poster bed were red which made the room sumptuous but dark. On the walls hung family portraits and landscape paintings, mainly of the mountains and lochs surrounding the Hall.

The far wall was lined with a dark wooden bookcase, stuffed with books and objets d’art. She couldn’t see what any of them were from her position. He must love to read, because it was unusual to find a bookcase in a bedroom. She’d never been allowed one even though she’d pestered her father numerous times. She didn’t think he’d read much recently other than the book he was now perusing, as she’d never seen a book by his bedside. How did he pass the time without reading or doing anything? No wonder he was so melancholic, having only his thoughts for company when Sinclair wasn’t here. She looked at his bedclothes. His comforter was unusual with its Indian design. How had he acquired that? Maybe his father had brought it back from travels to the sub-continent.

“He talks here about excising wounds to reduce the risk of infection,” said Lord Kane, turning his deep brown eyes on her.

“Yes, the idea is to remove any tissue that might prevent healing, or any dirt that is in the wound.”

“Would this work on me?”

“To work best it should have been done straight away, but you didn’t have access to help at that time.”

His eyes darkened, a furrow appearing in his brow. “No. Still, might we not cut away the infection and start again?”

“It would be very painful, both during the procedure and the recovery, especially as you won’t take a pain killer, and we would be enlarging the wounds and subsequent scars.”

“I am already ruined, so it matters not.”

“You are not ruined.”

He huffed his disagreement. “I think we should consider it.”

“I fear it is dangerous, sir. It might result in greater infection which may overwhelm you.”

He shrugged, as though it mattered not whether he lived or died. A lump came to Abby’s throat and she swallowed it down. She didn’t want to encourage this course of treatment because it wasn’t just the infection that was preventing the healing, but his own night-time actions. On the other hand he was showing interest and she didn’t want to discourage that.

“Perhaps you would permit me to consult with an acquaintance of mine. He is a surgeon and professor at the university in Edinburgh. He might have some insight into the efficacy of this treatment so long after the initial injury.”

“You attended the University of Edinburgh?” he said, surprise transforming his face, bringing it alive for the first time.

“Not officially. I wasn’t permitted to go but I sat in on many of the lectures and Professor Jackson offered me practical lessons when the other students had gone.”

“Why weren’t you permitted to go?”

“My father forbade it as he did not believe it suitable for a woman to participate in the affairs of men.”

“But you went anyway?”

“I did.” She looked him in the eye, and he held her gaze.

“That does not surprise me,” he said, and Abby smiled.

“I will order the gauze and the other items, and we will continue as we are for now while I make my consultations. Does that agree with you, sir?”

“It does. Thank you.”

“Of course.” She held out her hand for the book and he gave it to her. “I should go, let you rest. Good night, sir.”

“Good night, Miss Griffin.”

Abby nodded and hurried out of his room, too full of happiness to say anything else and worried that if she stayed any longer she might burst with it and annoy him. A breakthrough day, truly remarkable.

“I should shout at people more!” she said out loud to no one, thinking about her outburst following the cake incident. She took the secret passageway back to her room, not wanting to waste any time in writing to Professor Jackson. She had much to tell him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby has a proposition for Lord Kane, and begins her massage therapy.

December came and the weather set in; snow piling in huge drifts along the paths preventing egress from the estate. No supplies could come in, and Sinclair had been busy up on the moor shooting game to provide meat for the table. Fortunately, the pantry was well stocked, and Harper had enough vegetables pickled and brined to ensure they would not starve or contract scurvy. Abby had managed to get her letter to Professor Jackson out before the weather turned, but there was no hope of getting a reply anytime soon.

Abby spent most of the time she wasn’t with Lord Kane preparing the sitting room downstairs for his eventual use. He was still unaware of her plans, but that wasn’t stopping her. Mrs MacKay had been hard to persuade, but Sinclair had supported her and eventually they had worn her down. She refused to help, but Abby was glad about that. She worked better alone with no one to interfere. Her main task so far had been to make space in some of the other rooms for the furniture from the sitting and dining rooms.

Once they’d moved the furniture, she would need to arrange some new beds. There was no way they could dismantle Lord Kane’s bed and bring it down five flights of stairs, so a new one would have to be made. Sinclair knew a carpenter, Roan, who lived in a nearby village, but he wasn’t able to get here until the New Year, which at least gave Abby plenty of time to prepare.

She went through to the kitchen where Harper and Charlotte were busy peeling potatoes. They both looked up and smiled.

“What have you been doing today, Abby?” said Harper. They’d dispensed with the formality of Miss Griffin some time ago. Indeed, the only people still adhering to the official rules were Mrs MacKay and Lord Kane. The former because she was an old grump and the latter because it would never occur to him not to. Having been called nothing and barely spoken to for the first few weeks of her time at Arkaig Hall, Abby was pleased to now be Miss Griffin to his Lordship. She didn’t anticipate there would ever be a time when they addressed each other informally.

“In the sitting room as usual. I’ve chosen the wrong time of year to start this project because everything needs taking out and beating but we can barely get the door open.”

“Spring will be here before tha knows it,” said Harper.

“I suppose. It’s very frustrating.” Abby took a seat next to Charlotte, picked up a knife and started peeling potatoes from the child’s pile. “What letter starts the word potato?” she said.

“P!” replied Charlotte proudly.

They had daily lessons lasting half an hour because that was as long as Charlotte’s attention span lasted, and even that took bribery with pieces of sugary tablet Harper made and Charlotte loved. She was doing well, though, some of the lessons she’d learned with Lord Kane before he went away coming back to her as time went on. Abby was hopeful to have her reading something simple afore long.

“Good girl!”

Charlotte gave a gap-toothed grin and then got out of her chair and climbed on Abby’s knee. She was small for her age, and Abby put her arms around her to hold her in place while she peeled, kissing her head every now and then. She wasn’t sure whether she or Charlotte got more out of their growing affection. It had become something she enjoyed and perhaps had needed.

“Harper, I was wondering what the household has planned for Christmas? It is less than two weeks away, but no one has spoken of it.”

“We dinnae have any plans, Abby.”

“Why not? It is the best time of the year!” said Abby, surprised as Christmas had become a time for festivities in recent years and she’d always looked forward to it.

“What would be the point, with the master and all?”

“The master is ill, not dead, and there are other people to consider.” She looked down at Charlotte’s blonde head as the girl tried to arrange potato peelings into letters on the table. “Have you never celebrated?”

“We used tae. There was always a party wi fiddlers and there were streamers hanging from the ceiling. Last time Lord Kane came home from university he went out and cut a tree and we had that in the house. He said they did it in Fife but they’re queer folk over there I’ve heard.”

Abby laughed. “Sounds to me as though Lord Kane likes to celebrate the season.”

“Mrs MacKay has said there’s to be nae celebration cause of Lord Kane’s condition.”

Of course she would, thought Abby. “We’ll see about that.” Abby kissed Charlotte again then eased out of the seat leaving the child behind.

She headed to the room at the rear of the house that acted as the estate office. Mrs MacKay and Sinclair were inside, pouring over a large account book.

“May I interrupt a moment?” said Abby, entering the room.

“What can we do for you?” said Sinclair with a smile.

“I would like to talk about Christmas. Harper informs me there are to be no celebrations this year.”

“That’s right,” said Mrs MacKay. "It would not be appropriate.”

“I don’t see why it is not appropriate. Surely if any household needs some festivity and joy it is this one.”

“There is nothing to be joyous of.”

“We are alive! I know it has been a terrible year for everyone but we have come through it. That is reason to celebrate and I believe Lord Kane has always enjoyed this time of year.”

“And that is why it would be wrong to commemorate it. He would not wish to be reminded of happier times. It will only serve to increase his melancholia.”

“I agree with Mrs MacKay,” said Sinclair, which was no surprise to Abby because he always did until she’d worked on him.

“Has anyone asked Lord Kane his opinion?” There was no reply. “Times that hold special memories in our lives do not go away simply because we don’t celebrate them. A few streamers or a party won’t be a reminder of Christmases past for Lord Kane, those memories are already there. You cannot stop him thinking about the changes in his life. He spends most of his time doing that anyway.”

“Nevertheless, we will not be having Christmas this year.” Mrs MacKay folded her arms across her thin chest as she was wont to do when she thought the argument was over.

“There are other people in this household apart from Lord Kane. The servants deserve some enjoyment. I will speak to him about it.”

“You will do no such thing!” said Mrs MacKay. “It is not your place to interfere in the running of this household, you have done enough as it is!”

“I have merely begun, Mrs MacKay. I will speak to Lord Kane, as the ultimate decision rests with him, and I will abide by his request. Good day to you.” She nodded to them out of courtesy then left. She was barely out of the door when Mrs MacKay spoke to Sinclair.

“I told you she’d be trouble. Uppity wee girl. Lord Kane will put her in her place.”

“I don’t know, Agnes. I think she’s just what this miserable old place needs,” replied Sinclair.

Abby stalked towards Lord Kane’s room with renewed vigour upon hearing those words. It was a couple of hours before she was expected, so she knocked and waited.

“Enter,” he said in a gruff voice.

She opened the door and went in. The room was too hot as usual, the warm air hitting her after the cold of the rest of the house. If she ever got him outside he might freeze to death in normal temperature conditions having become used to this hellish heat.

“May I speak with you?”

“What torment do you have for me now?” he said with a mock sigh.

“Quite the opposite, sir. I come with a pleasant suggestion for once.”

Lord Kane gestured to the armchair and Abby sat in it. “How are you feeling?” she said.

“Fine,” he replied, which was unlikely to be true but better than no response.

“You are too hot,” she said, holding the back of her hand against his forehead.

He brushed her hand away, though gently. “I don’t have time for your fussing. Just get on with telling me what you want.”

“I do apologise, I did not realise you were in such a hurry. Have I interrupted your essential brooding time, sir?”

A sound erupted from him, like the bark of a dog; it startled Abby because such a noise had never emanated from him before. She realised with a shock that it was a laugh. Heavens! She found herself unable to speak as her heart was thumping too fast to form words, and so she laughed as well.

“You are...” Lord Kane looked at her, shaking his head. “What do you want, Miss Griffin?”

Abby took a deep breath to calm herself. “I want Christmas, sir. Not for me, for the household.”

“Christmas? What do you mean?”

“There are no plans for festivities this year, but I think that is a mistake. We have a young child in this house, Charlotte, and the servants have worked so hard. We are snowed in and everything is cold and frankly miserable. I believe celebrating the special day would bring some joy to everyone. I was told you are fond of this occasion. It would be nice to decorate the house and eat good food and have some music. We could swap gifts, small things, things of meaning. Don’t you think that would be wonderful?”

“I don’t see what there is to celebrate this year, I’m sorry, Miss Griffin.”

Abby put her hand on his arm, leaned towards him. He appeared shocked at the contact, too surprised to push her away. “You are alive! Doesn’t that mean anything?”

“I do not wish to celebrate this year. That’s what it means.”

She was closer to him than she’d ever been, and his eyes stared into hers. She felt the pull of them, a tug on her heartstrings. “I will respect your wishes regarding yourself, but what about your servants. Don’t they deserve some fun, just for a day?”

They remained in this pose a moment longer, and then he sighed and broke the eye contact. “Very well. Speak to Mrs MacKay.”

“I think perhaps the instruction should come from you, sir. She finds me somewhat irritating I believe and would not wish to hear it from me.”

“I cannot think why,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Abby decided to take advantage of this unexpected good humour. “Whilst you are in a generous mood...”

“Oh, lord! What?”

“Perhaps we might start with the muscle massage later. It will only be of benefit to you, I promise.”

“Fine,” he growled. “You can consider it my Christmas gift to you. Now leave, and ask Mrs MacKay to come to me.”

“Thank you! I will!” Abby couldn’t contain her happiness this time, and she grinned broadly at him. He didn’t return the smile, but there was a glint in his eye she was certain. It was possible it was a reflection of the firelight, but she didn’t care. She was wearing him down, slowly but surely. Her next task was to find a way to include him in the Christmas celebrations without him realising.

She ran down the stairs to the kitchen, asked Harper to tell Mrs MacKay as she didn’t think she’d be able to contain her glee if she had to tell the woman of her victory herself.

\---

A couple of hours later Abby returned to Lord Kane’s room. She had some trepidation because she’d never given this form of therapy to a patient before, but also excited, as it was hopefully the start of a new phase of his recovery.

He watched her as she put her medical bag on the armchair and pulled out a jar of a special oil she’d mixed for the purpose and a cloth.

“You have not forgotten then,” he said.

“Sadly for you, I have not. I thought we would concentrate on your legs today. I will massage the muscles to relax them and then we will stretch them before I redress your wounds.”

“I don’t remember you mentioning stretches.”

“How else are we to strengthen them? It will be fine, you will see.” She unbuttoned his nightshirt and raised his legs carefully so she could ease it away from the area she wanted to work on, tucking it beneath the cloth shorts that covered his privates. “Don’t want to get oil all over everything!” She tucked the cloth she’d brought under his legs.

“You have done this before I presume?”

“Of course!” she said, not looking at him. She unwrapped his bandages carefully then rubbed some oil into her hands and took hold of one of his feet. “I shall be gentle with you.” 

She took her time massaging each foot in turn, explaining what she was doing, what good it would do him. She glanced up from time to time and saw his eyes were closed. He didn’t respond to her but she carried on talking to him in a quiet, calm voice nevertheless.

From his feet she moved towards his calves. It wasn’t an easy task because of his wounds, but they were predominantly on the front of his body, so she massaged the back of his calves and the sides where she could. He groaned, and she looked up sharply, but his eyes were still shut, and he didn’t seem to be in pain.

His thighs were the location of the worst of his injuries, so she slid her hands up the sides to avoid hurting him, beneath his flimsy cloth shorts and back down. He jumped, pushed her hands away. She stepped back, alarmed.

“Did I hurt you?”

“I think that’s enough massaging for today,” he said.

“What about the stretches?”

He closed his eyes briefly. “What do they involve?”

“I will show you.” She moved to get hold of his foot but he stopped her.

“No, can’t you demonstrate some other way? I want to see it first.”

Abby frowned, unsure what the problem was. “I suppose I can do the actions myself. I’ll have to lie down.” She got on the bed and lay next to him. “I’ll be holding your foot when I do this of course, but I will bend your knee and slide your foot up like this, and then down again.” She moved her own leg as indicated. “The second exercise is where you will point your toes to the ceiling, and I will push your knee down towards the bed which will strengthen the muscles in your calves and thighs. Following that there are simple ankle rolls which you can do anytime by yourself and finally I will hold my hand flat and you will push against me to stretch the calf muscles again. I can’t demonstrate that on myself.”

She turned her head so she could see him. He was looking at her in return and their heads were so close together she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. It felt suddenly too intimate lying next to him in this manner. Other than the night she’d held him to her, which he wouldn’t remember, she had never lain next to a man even for a moment. She sat up, swung her legs over the side and stood.

“Does that seem reasonable to you?” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Yes.”

“Then let’s do it.”

The stretches were accomplished easily in the end and by the time she’d cleaned his wounds and dressed them he seemed to have regained his equilibrium and so had she.

“What do you think?” she said as she wiped her oily hands on the cloth.

“It wasn’t unpleasant.”

“Oh, well that’s wonderful! I wasn’t sure if you liked it after you pushed me away.”

“Yes, well, I need to get used to it, that’s all,” he said gruffly. “How often must we do them?”

“I was thinking three times a week for the legs and three times a week we will work on the arms and upper body. You get Sunday off.” She smiled and was pleased to see him nod in agreement.

“Fine,” he said.

“Good!” She packed the oil and cloth into her bag. “Everyone’s delighted about Christmas, well everyone except Mrs MacKay. They are grateful for your generosity.”

“It is you they should be grateful to. I would rather have nothing to do with it.”

Abby decided to take the first part of what he said and ignore the second. “Thank you. I shall not let them down. Until later, Lord Kane.” She picked up her bag and exited his room, enormously pleased with how the session had gone overall.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas part one. Have Abby's attempts to involve Lord Kane in proceedings had any effect?

On Christmas morning Abby was up well before dawn, indeed she’d barely slept with excitement and thoughts of everything she had to do that day. She was in the kitchen with Harper, helping prepare the food. She’d told Lord Kane that the servants deserved some fun, but in reality there was no one else to cook the food or decorate the house so the burden of the work fell on them anyway. That was why Abby had spent every moment she wasn’t with the master doing as much of the work herself as she could and organising what she could not. The twelve days since she’d received permission to hold the party had flown past.

Luckily, everyone in the household was overjoyed at the prospect of a party when they had hitherto thought there would be none, and no one complained about the extra work. No one except Mrs MacKay, and even she had moaned less the closer to the day they had come, and the nicer the house started to look. Who could fail to be cheered by the bows of red-berried holly and bright green ivy strung across the walls and around the picture frames? Not Abby, whose heart was lifted every time she walked through the rooms. They were holding the party in the great hall, and its huge fire had been lit for several days now to try and warm up the cold stone. Abby could only see her breath first thing in the morning now, which was an improvement.

A large tree stood in the corner of the hall which Sinclair had cut down from the nearby woodland and after breakfast and Lord Kane’s treatment, Abby and Charlotte were going to decorate it. The dining table and chairs had been moved into the hall, which wasn’t the onerous task it might have been as they were set to be stored in the back rooms afterwards anyway ready for the alterations to Sinclair’s new chamber. Abby sliced a huge loaf of bread and looked around the kitchen happily. It was going to be a great day.

After breakfast she headed up the stairs to Lord Kane’s room. He was no more cheerier about the party now than he had been when he’d agreed to it, but Abby had managed to involve him by asking his advice on various issues such as most suitable type of tree (Sitka spruce), whether she should hire any entertainment in the form of musicians (no and he would prefer not to be disturbed by such noise) and anything else she could think of. Two days ago he’d finally let his exasperation with her erupt and told her a woman with a nature as forceful as hers surely did not need his opinion on table decorations, and that had been the end of the consultations. She’d been amazed he’d lasted as long as he had and was delighted with the overall success of her plan to include him.

She had in her arms now something that she wasn’t sure whether he would accept, but it was the first in a line of things she had planned, so she was hopeful for a reasonable reception.

“Good morning!” she said, pushing against the door to open it.

“What is that?” he said, and she could see his frown even in the weak candlelight.

“You will see.” She set the item down and went over to the window to open the curtains. Light flooded the room as it was a bright day with blue skies. Snow still blanketed everything, reflecting the sun’s weak rays. “It’s a beautiful morning. Merry Christmas!”

She picked up the pot and carried it closer to his bed. “It’s your very own Christmas tree.” She placed it on his bedside table.

“It’s tiny,” he said, looking askance at it.

“I couldn’t get a full sized one up the stairs, so you’ll have to make do with a sapling. It has tiny baubles, look.” She fingered a couple of the shapes that hung off the small branches. “They’re coloured pebbles I found on the loch shore, and some holly berries.”

“Hmmm.” He pursed his lips in a way he had that she’d come to realise meant a begrudging interest or admiration or indeed any emotion he felt that he didn’t want to outwardly express.

“I’m glad you like it. Shall we get on with our routine? I have to go back and help Harper with the venison and then Charlotte and I are dressing the big Christmas tree we’ve got in the hall. I believe you cut one down yourself some years ago?” She looked up at him as she massaged the muscles in his calves.

“Yes.”

“Did you see it at the university? Harper said they had trees indoors in Fife.”

“Harper says a lot.”

“We have to talk about something,” she said, bending his knee. “It’s either you or the weather, or else I have to listen to her thoughts on Monty and whether today is the day he will finally ask her to step out with him.”

“Monty?” said Lord Kane, shifting his position so he could see Abby better.

“He is the most handsome man this side of Inverness apparently.”

“Do you agree with that assessment?”

Abby paused, wondering what he was expecting her to say in answer to that. “As I do not know all the men this side of Inverness, I cannot in all honesty make an accurate assessment.”

“But of the ones you do know.”

She finished the stretches, stood with her hands on her hips and studied Lord Kane. He was looking at her with challenge in his eyes. “Handsomeness is on the inside as well as the out, and I think I do not know enough yet about the men of this Hall to judge.”

She went around to the side of the bed and eased him into a sitting position. “I’m going to massage your arms as well today as it is a busy day and I do not know if I will have the energy tomorrow.”

He pulled a dissatisfied face. “Must we? You have already pulled me this way and that.”

“We must. We will not get results by doing only half a job.”

She moved to the other side of the bed and climbed on top so she was next to him. He knew the routine by now, leaned slightly on his right hip so he could turn his back to her without stretching his stomach wound too painfully.

Coating her hands in more oil, she started at the base of his spine and ran them up and across his shoulders and down over his biceps again and again. He let his head fall towards his chest as he always did, his breathing becoming loud and quick. She thought she was doing good, that her actions were aiding his lung function, stretching them, filling them with air. His back was unblemished, affording her a glimpse of what the rest of his body must once have been before the incident. An olive brown, the skin smooth and taut. His spine was strong and knotted; she could feel each vertebra as she ran her thumbs over them and traced their journey to the base of his neck. He always let out a soft moan when she reached there. A release of his pain and tension she supposed.

“You are not as tense today,” she said when she’d finished.

“You have talked me into somnambulance,” he replied as she pulled his nightshirt over his bare back.

She laid his head onto the pillow then returned to his side to finish dressing him. As she glanced up, she saw that he had his eyes closed and that his lips were curved into a smile. By the time she’d finished covering him and was putting her things away the smile was gone, and the look of bored disinterest had returned as though he had put on a mask.

“I will see you this afternoon,” she said.

“I will be here,” he replied.

\---

“I think these are very beautiful, Charlotte,” said Abby as she hung pebbles the girl had decorated on the tree.

“This one is a wee fish.” Charlotte handed her a blue one with a black dot of paint for an eye and a squiggly line for a fin.

“I can see that. A plaice, I think, because it is a nice flat stone.”

“Sometimes when I’m in the loch the fish nibble me toes.”

“Do they?” said Abby, sceptically.

“Aye. They’s lots of ‘em and they’re really wee. Ye can see ‘em when the water’s green.”

“That must be in the summer then. Does the water get warm at all?”

“Ye can swim in it, but it’s nae warm.”

“Not much is here. I suppose that’s what I get for coming up in the winter.”

“Ye get the snow!”

“Do you like the snow?”

Charlotte nodded. “Me and the master made a snowman once. It was bigger than me!”

“Was it as tall as the master?”

“Bigger!”

“Gosh, that’s a big snowman.”

“Aye.”

“We will have to make one before the snow melts,” said Abby, hanging some wooden toy soldiers she’d found in a box. They must have been from when Lord Kane brought the tree home that year. Not long after that he had been a soldier himself. Would he ever talk about that time? Sinclair said not. They had only talked so far about estate business. She felt a tug on her sleeve and looked down. It was Charlotte.

“Can we go now?” she said.

“Go where?” said Abby, disorientated because she was still thinking about Lord Kane.

“To mek a snowman!”

“Not today, sweetheart. We have too much to do for the party.”

Charlotte pulled a face, but Abby gave her a soldier to hang on a lower branch and the disappointment didn’t last long.

When they’d finished there was only the star to put on the top. Abby picked Charlotte up but they were both so short the child could not reach.

“We’ll have to ask Mr Sinclair,” said Abby.

“I’ll go!” said Charlotte, running off promptly.

While she was gone Abby removed some parcels from their hiding place and put them under the tree. They were small gifts she’d made for each member of the household. She was excited to give them, particularly the one she’d made for Charlotte. She couldn’t wait to see her face.

“What’s all this?” said Sinclair as he appeared in the hall tugged along by Charlotte. “Oh, that looks very handsome, Abby.”

“Thank you. We unfortunately can’t reach the top for the star, and Charlotte wants to place it there.”

Charlotte held her arms out and Sinclair picked her up. Abby gave her the star and she put it atop the tree.

“That looks grand,” said Sinclair when he’d deposited Charlotte on the ground.

“Perfect,” said Abby.

“What are these?” said Charlotte, who was on her hands and knees, her head stuck beneath the lowest branches of the tree.

“Those are gifts for later,” said Abby.

Charlotte backed out of the tree and scrabbled to her feet. “Who they for?”

“For everyone.”

“Even me?”

“Especially you.” Abby ruffled her hair. She looked at the grandfather clock that stood against the wall. Twelve o’clock. Time to help Harper, have lunch, then return to Lord Kane. She had a gift for him too, one that was not under the tree. She was more confident now that he would like it having seen his acceptance of his Christmas tree. A warm feeling bubbled through her veins, and she smiled with anticipation as she walked back to the kitchen with Charlotte.

After lunch Abby helped Harper wash the dishes and was about to go and get ready for her afternoon visit to Lord Kane when there was another tug on her sleeve.

“Can I come with thee?” said Charlotte.

“To see the master?”

“Aye.”

“I’m not certain that is a good idea, Charlotte. The master is unwell as you know.”

“I want tae show him me letters.”

A pair of large blue eyes looked up at Abby pleadingly, pulling on her heart strings. “You will have to wait outside so I can ask him, but he might say no and that won’t be because of you, so don’t be upset by that.”

Charlotte nodded.

“Very well, go and get your slate and I will meet you here.”

Abby went to her room, got her bag and the gift for Lord Kane then took Charlotte to his chamber. “Remember what I said. Wait here and be good.”

She entered the room, went straight up to Lord Kane.

“Good afternoon, Miss Griffin,” he said, sounding a fraction cheerier than usual, though it would be hard to tell for anyone who hadn’t become used to his every nuance as Abby had.

“Good afternoon, sir. I will get straight to the point. There is someone who would like to see you. She is outside the door.”

“Who?” said Lord Kane, easing himself into a sitting position.

“Young Charlotte.”

Lord Kane turned the top of his comforter over, smoothed it out. “What does she want?”

“She wants to show you something.”

“Are you going to be more forthcoming about what it is?”

“No. The child wants to surprise you, so I cannot say any more.”

He rested his head against the headboard behind, looked up at the ceiling. “I do not know,” he said.

“I understand, but she speaks fondly of you, sir. She has so little and asks only for the gift of your time, however briefly.” Abby sucked on her bottom lip wondering if she had gone too far in appealing to his emotions in such a way. His face was unreadable for once.

He took a deep breath. “Very well, but I should have my gown on, I think. It is in the wardrobe.”

“Of course.” Abby went to the cupboard and pulled out a long dressing gown that was a deep purple and richly embroidered with gold and silver thread. “Is this the item?” she said, showing it to him.

“Yes.”

“It is a most handsome gown,” she said, helping him into it.

“It was my father’s. He brought it from India.”

“Is that where your comforter comes from?”

“Yes.” He fastened up the gown. “I am ready.”

Abby went to the door, brought a shy Charlotte into the room. “Charlotte has something for you, sir,” said Abby, and she helped the girl into the armchair.

“What do you have?” said Lord Kane.

“I’ve been doin’ me letters.” She handed him her slate with its big looping letters in white chalk.

“Who has been teaching you?” he said, looking at Abby.

“Abby teached me like thee did.”

“I think you mean Miss Griffin,” said Lord Kane.

“It is fine, sir,” interjected Abby. “We have dispensed with formalities of address below stairs.”

“Of course you have.” He cleared his throat, turned back to Charlotte. “You have been taught well, better than I did.”

Charlotte shook her head, leaned closer to him so she could whisper. It was a stage whisper, so Abby heard every word. “I had more fun wi thee,” she said.

“Miss Griffin is a hard school mistress, is she?” whispered Lord Kane in return.

“Aye,” said Charlotte.

“I can imagine. She is hard with me as well.”

“Is she?”

“Yes, but I know that what she is doing is good for me, and it is the same for you, so you must work hard.”

Charlotte scrunched up her face in disapproval of this idea but then nodded. She leaned right into Lord Kane, her lips against his ear, her hand covering her face, and this time her whisper was too quiet for Abby to hear.

“I see,” said Lord Kane.

Charlotte sat back in the armchair and smiled.

“Miss Griffin, there is a book on my bookcase, second shelf from the bottom I believe. It is called Treasure Island. Will you fetch it, please?”

Abby went to the bookcase, located the book and handed it to Lord Kane.

“This was my favourite book when I was your age,” he said to Charlotte. “It’s full of pirates and buried treasure and lots of adventures. If you learn all your letters you will be able to read this one day and it will give you great pleasure, as it did me.” He gave the book to Charlotte, who simply stared at him.

“What do you say, Charlotte?” said Abby whose heart was thumping and felt as though it might burst.

“Thankee, master,” said Charlotte, and she leaned across and gave Lord Kane a kiss on his cheek.

He looked at Abby afterwards and she took the hint and got Charlotte from the chair, taking her out of the room. “You did well,” she said, kissing her head. “Now go and help Harper.”

She returned to the room to find Lord Kane had resumed his supine position staring at the ceiling.

“That was most kind of you, sir,” she said.

“Don’t speak,” he replied. “Just, I don’t know, just sit down and be quiet for a moment if that is at all possible.”

Abby sat in the armchair, unsure whether he was upset or annoyed or just wanted some time to examine the encounter. He hadn’t shouted at her or dismissed her so that was a good sign.

She waited as patiently as she could as one minute, then two went past. She was not accustomed to sitting still and it was hard not to fidget and cause a disturbance.

“Nothing is the same,” he said at last, so quietly Abby nearly missed his words as she was slipping into a reverie about Charlotte learning to read the book.

She looked at him. He was staring at her intently, his eyes shimmering as though they had watered.

“No, it is not,” she said in reply.

He was silent again for a moment. “Are you not going to give me some words of comfort or encouragement?”

“Do you want them?”

“No.”

“The past cannot be changed.”

“It cannot.” He stared again. “But...?”

“But what?”

“You are desperate to say something, I can tell. Your lips are quivering with it.”

Abby smiled. “My lips do not quiver. I was going to keep quiet, but as you insist, I will say this – the past cannot be changed, but the future is unwritten.”

“Hmm. Perhaps I should ask Charlotte to write it for me.”

“Then you will have snowmen and fish that nibble your feet and too much Highland tablet.”

“That sounds reasonable to me.”

“Yes,” said Abby, chuckling.

She helped him out of his dressing gown and they went through their routine, so familiar now it seemed to take hardly any time at all. When she’d finished, she stood by his bed. “I will leave you alone, at least for a while, but I do have a gift for you.”

“I expected you would.”

She handed him a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. He opened it carefully, held the gift up so he could examine it.

“I thought it would be a nice way to have flowers all year round, even when there are no real ones to be picked,” she said, admiring her own handiwork. She’d used green coloured sea glass for leaves, and bright yellow periwinkles for flower heads and stuck them to a piece of cloth which she’d stretched over a frame. Pairs of cockleshells made for butterflies and she thought she’d done a good job. It looked bright and would make a nice addition to the chamber.

“It is most thoughtful. Thank you,” he said.

“Shall I put it on the dressing table where you can see it?” 

“Perhaps later. I will keep it here for now.” He propped it up on the bedside table next to the Christmas tree. “You had better go, enjoy your festivities.”

“I will be back this evening as usual.”

“There is no need. Mrs MacKay will tend to me.”

“I will be back,” she said, and then she smiled at him and left.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas part two. Has Abby finally found a chink in Lord Kane's armour?

As the time for the festivities drew near, the whole of Arkaig Hall smelt wonderfully of roasted meats and warm spices. The great hall was lit with hundreds of candles and the fire was roaring in the grate. The Christmas tree stood proudly in the corner and the small band of people who cared for the Hall and Lord Kane were standing around it, swapping gifts.

Abby had made shell pictures for everyone except Charlotte and they had been well received, even by Mrs MacKay, who had given her a lace handkerchief with her initials embroidered, which had touched Abby more than she would have thought. She’d given the woman a hug and received a pat on the back in return. It was progress, of a kind. Harper had given everyone sugared almonds contained within twists of colourful paper, and Sinclair had carved a boat out of wood and this formed a centrepiece for the table and was stuffed with nuts and dried fruit. Monty hadn’t given gifts a second’s thought and was shamed by Harper into offering carriage driving lessons which Abby was looking forward to taking up.

That left Charlotte, who had been in a state of excitement ever since her visit with Lord Kane. “I’ve got something special for you, my darling,” Abby said, kneeling so she was eye level with the girl. “I hope you like it.” She handed her the small brown package and Charlotte gripped it, staring at it as though it would magically reveal itself. “You can open it!”

Charlotte looked a moment longer then ripped off the paper, revealing the rag doll Abby had made for her. It had a blue and white dress with a white smock and a blue and white chequered bonnet. She’d given it blonde hair and blue eyes in an attempt to make it look like Charlotte. It wasn’t a bad job, she thought, especially as she’d never made one before. It was stuffed with sheep’s wool and was soft and plump.

Charlotte held it, her small fingers stroking the yellow wool hair.

“What do you think?” said Abby. “Do you like it?”

Charlotte nodded, then flung her arms around Abby, the doll squashed between them. Abby stroked her hair, kissed her. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart. I love you.”

That was it for Charlotte, then. She lost interest in everything else and it was Harper who gave Abby the girl’s gift, which was a pebble painted the colours of a rainbow.

“It’s beautiful,” said Abby to Charlotte, and received a distracted nod in response. She smiled, watched as the girl took the doll around the Hall, muttering to it. Her heart swelled, and a tear formed in her eye. She brushed it away.

A small group of local villagers arrived having braved the snow which was now falling again. Sinclair produced a jug of ale and filled a tankard for everyone. They were about to raise a toast when there was another knock at the door.

“Aah,” said Sinclair. “About time!”

Abby looked at Harper who shrugged. She wasn’t expecting anyone else unless Sinclair had invited some more of the villagers, yes that must be it. Five people stepped into the hall, a couple of whom she recognised as estate workers. They had cases with them, and she was shocked when they opened them to reveal a flute, three fiddles and a lute.

“What is this?” she said to Harper.

“Oh, that is a local musical troupe. This will be fun!” Harper clapped her hands as the men took up a position next to the Christmas tree.

Abby grew cold because Lord Kane had specifically said he didn’t want to hear any music. What would he think if these men started playing? It might upset him, and he might think she had ignored his wishes.

“Sinclair!” she said, trying to get his attention. Sinclair held his hand up while he finished talking to the musicians then he came across to the household.

“I have a surprise for you all. I’m delighted to welcome the Arkaig Weavers to our Christmas celebration and they’re going to play for us and then join us for the meal.”

“Sinclair!” said Abby again, but he merely nodded at her and carried on. This was not going well.

“We’re all at Arkaig Hall for one purpose and that is to run the estate and to look after its land and people. This year has been a difficult one with the war overseas during which our master, Lord Kane, was heroically injured trying to save his men, including me. As we all know he has not yet recovered from those injuries. Because of that, we did not believe there was anything to celebrate this Christmas. We did not, however, reckon on the will of a new but most welcome addition to our merry band, Miss Abby Griffin, and it is because of her that we are here tonight, enjoying ourselves and celebrating the good things that have happened this year.”

Everyone turned to look at Abby, who felt herself reddening under their gaze.

“Lord Kane cannot be with us tonight,” continued Sinclair, “but he wanted me to thank you all for your hard work on the estate and for taking care of him so well as you have been doing. He asked me to arrange some entertainment for you as reward and that I have done, so without further ado, let us enjoy the evening, and Merry Christmas everyone!”

Everyone raised a cup to the toast, and Abby did too although she was barely conscious of it. She was still thinking about Sinclair’s words, and Lord Kane’s insistence to her that he wanted no music.

The band started playing and people were laughing and dancing. Abby was standing next to the fire watching them as Sinclair came towards her.

“I don’t understand,” she said as he took up position next to her. “Lord Kane specifically said no music.”

Sinclair smiled. “That was a ruse to prevent you from organising something. He wanted to reward the staff in some way, including you, and for it to be a surprise.”

“He never said... he has never shown any interest, except begrudgingly.”

“He did not want it at first, that is true, and if you weren’t here there would be no party, of that I have no doubt. What you said about the staff deserving some enjoyment impressed itself upon him, and so he instructed me to find a way. It was difficult to find something when you were so enthusiastically organising everything, so he had to create the ruse.”

Abby was overwhelmed. She knew they’d been making progress, but this was beyond what she’d imagined. “I did not realise I had made such an impression.”

To her surprise Sinclair put his arm around her. “Oh, you have made an impression.” He laughed, squeezed her shoulder then let her go. “Come, let’s bring out the food!”

They formed a chain from the kitchen to the hall, bringing out plates and cutlery, platters and bowls, and more jugs of ale. Harper had made the most of the game Sinclair had brought from the hillside, and there was roast venison, grouse and partridge stuffed with blueberries, and a huge ham studded with cloves. The last of the carrots and neeps they’d managed to dig up before the snow were mashed and there were potatoes done every way imaginable.

They sat down to enjoy the feast, Abby seated between Harper and Charlotte. It was wonderful, but she couldn’t help thinking about Lord Kane stuck up in his room alone. She really must press ahead with the downstairs room in the new year, so that this would be the last celebration he missed. Hopefully by next Christmas he would be moving around freely anyway. Charlotte slipped her hand in Abby’s and Abby brought it to her lips and kissed it.

“Is dolly enjoying the food?” she said, noticing the doll sitting on the table propped against a tankard, an orangey blob of mashed neep stuck to its mouth.

“Aye,” said Charlotte. “She’s happy.”

“That’s good.”

At eight o’clock Abby climbed the stairs to Lord Kane’s room, clutching a jug of ale and two tankards. She’d debated for some time whether to take him the drink, and then decided the worst he could do was say no. She’d drunk some herself already, and it was warming and delicious. He’d be a fool to turn it down.

She opened the door and went in. He was sitting up in the bed and his dark eyes tracked her as she approached.

“Are you here to get me drunk?” he said, nodding at the jug.

“I thought you might enjoy some. It is most pleasant.”

“I’m sure it is, but I am afraid I do not partake.”

“What, never?” said Abby, surprised.

“No.”

“Oh.” She set the jug and tankards on the dressing table, a vague sense of disappointment washing over her for some reason.

“Please don’t let me stop you from enjoying a drop.”

“No, it is fine.” She looked at him. There was so much she wanted to say to him, about the music and the party, but now she was here words deserted her. She hadn’t fully realised the power of them until she’d spoken to Sinclair earlier, and now it seemed as though they should be chosen carefully, for she knew not which of them was impressing upon him, or what he was thinking.

“Are you going to change my dressings?” he said, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

“Yes, of course.” That gave her impetus and she went into her routine quickly and methodically. When it was done, she hovered uncertainly next to his bed.

“Why don’t you take a seat for a moment,” he said.

“Thank you.” Abby sat in the armchair, her hands folded on her lap.

“You are quieter than usual. Is it the ale? It can have a soporific effect I believe.”

“No!” she said. “I have only drunk a small amount.”

“Then what? As annoying as you are with your constant chatter, I find I prefer that to this reticence.”

“I am not reticent, sir. I was surprised, that is all, about your gift to the household. It was most unexpected but welcome.”

“Ah, so I have rendered you speechless? I did not know such a thing were possible.”

Abby laughed, relaxed a little. “Then you have achieved the impossible, sir. You said you did not want music.”

“I am sorry for deceiving you.”

“It was a wonderful gift for everyone and very well received. You are most kind.”

“Not at all. How is the celebration?”

“Wonderful! The great hall looks beautiful and Harper has worked magic with the food.” She described everything to him while he sat back with his hands behind his head and listened. “It is perhaps not as grand as when you last held a party here.”

“It sounds more entertaining.”

“I’m hoping Mrs MacKay will drink too much ale and reveal a different side to herself,” confided Abby, sniggering.

“I should like to see that.” He huffed what could have been a small laugh, then lapsed into silence.

Abby sat quietly, although her heart was thumping loudly in her ears. They had not conversed so much and so freely before, despite her initial reserve, which now seemed unfathomable.

Music and laughter drifted up from the hall, making Abby feel uncomfortable despite Lord Kane having ordered the entertainment himself. It seemed to heighten the disparity between the deadly silence of this room and the lively noise below.

“Charlotte has been so excited all day. At one point I thought she might faint with it.”

“She was always excitable.”

“What did she whisper to you, when we were here earlier?”

He turned to face her. “I do not think I should betray her secrets.”

“I suppose not,” she said with a hint of disappointment.

“She is most fond of you, that is all I will say.”

Warmth flowed through Abby and she smiled. “I am most fond of her too.”

There was silence again. Abby picked at a thread on her apron. “I do not like to think of you alone up here,” she said, finally voicing what had been on her mind all day. To her horror, tears formed in her eyes and one of them dripped onto her cheek. She wiped it away, hoping he had not seen it.

“I am rarely alone these days; you have ensured that. Indeed, I find myself longing for moments of peace.”

She examined his face to see whether he was serious or mocking. It was hard to tell as he remained stoic as always.

“You are missed, sir,” she said quietly.

“You are not to concern yourself with me,” he replied, and then he raised his hand, brushed his thumb across her cheek where it was damp. Abby was unable to move, she was so surprised. “I will not be cried over.”

His words were gently admonishing rather than harsh like they would have been a few weeks earlier.

“I do not mean to cry. It is the day, I suppose.”

“I expect so, and perhaps the ale.”

She nodded, although it wasn’t that and she suspected he knew it as well. “I should go, let you have your peace.”

“I have a gift for you before you go,” he said, lifting the comforter beside him and retrieving a parcel wrapped in the same brown paper she’d given him. “It’s only a trifle.”

“Thank you!” She took the gift and unwrapped it slowly. It was a book, The Old Curiosity Shop by Charles Dickens. “This is so kind, thank you!”

“It is one of my favourites. Have you read it?”

“No. I have not read as many novels as I would like.” She opened the book, found the first page, read the first paragraph out loud.

> Night is generally my time for walking. In the summer I  
>  often leave home early in the morning, and roam about fields  
>  and lanes all day, or even escape for days or weeks together,  
>  but saving in the country I seldom go out until after dark, though,  
>  Heaven be thanked, I love its light and feel the cheerfulness it  
>  sheds upon the earth, as much as any creature living.

“He loves the dark, like you,” she said, grinning.

“Mr Dickens does rather torture his characters,” said Lord Kane.

Abby read the next paragraph, and as he didn’t object, she kept reading aloud until her mouth was dry and she could continue no more. She closed the book.

“We shall have to wait until tomorrow to see what happens next,” she said, waiting with bated breath for his reply.

“I shall look forward to it,” he replied, and with that she realised a new contract had been made between them, one where she was to take care of his spiritual needs as well as his physical ones. It was what she had expected to be doing from the beginning and had started to think would never happen. She was overwhelmed with happiness but managed somehow to contain it.

“Thank you for the gift.”

“Please enjoy the rest of the evening,” he said.

“I will. Good night, Lord Kane.”

“Good night, Miss Griffin.”

Abby shut the door behind her and headed straight for her room, not allowing herself to think until she was inside. She lay on her bed, clutching the book, and allowed herself to fully breathe for perhaps the first time since she’d arrived. A corner had been turned, and there would no doubt be backward steps as well as forward ones in the weeks and months to come, but it had happened, and would not be undone. There was a wonderful man beneath the gruff exterior, kind, and thoughtful with a beautiful soul. He’d been lost, that was all, but now he was found. She turned onto her side, breathed slowly and deeply, trying to calm her fluttering heart.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby meets Roan the charming carpenter. The new medical supplies arrive, and a letter from Professor Jackson is of interest to her and Lord Kane.

January was a dark month in the north west of Scotland. The days were short and cold, though often beautiful with pale blue skies and a thin, yellow sun. Abby had learned the bluer the sky, the colder the day. It was one of those days now, the sixth of January or twelfth night. Christmas already seemed like a long-ago memory as the household had been busy since the party. The interest Lord Kane had shown in that event, though small, had infused the staff with hope for a better year in terms of his recovery and the estate’s fortunes.

There’d been low points as always - the master’s night terrors had shown little sign of abating, and his wounds were still slow to heal. Abby was excited, though, because the snow had finally stopped falling and the first train of the year was due to arrive. She was hoping it would bring with it her new medical supplies and a response from Professor Jackson. She had been reading to Lord Kane every night since Christmas and he seemed to be deriving as much satisfaction from the experience as she was. They were conversing more outside of the reading, and Abby was looking forward to seeing if the professor had any insight into how to draw the master out of his dark shell.

She was expecting something else today as well, a meeting she’d been desperate for, and this was why she was hovering in the great hall, her cloak wrapped around her even though she was inside. The fire that had made the hall so warm in the lead up to Christmas was cold again, the decorations gone, the tree chopped up and stored in the woodshed for next year’s fuel. Her breath misted in the air and she tucked her hands into the warm pockets of her cloak. Come on, come on, come on, she thought, impatient to move along with her plans, to which the man she was meeting today was crucial.

At long last a hard knock echoed through the hall and Abby hurried to the door, pulling it open. A tall man stood outside, stamping the snow from his boots. He was wearing a long, black overcoat and a dark grey fedora hat. Abby’s heart thumped at the sight of him as memories that lay beneath the surface of her mind threatened to break through the thin barrier she’d constructed. She swallowed, took a deep breath.

“Mr Sinclair’s associate, I presume?”

“Roan, ma’am,” said the man, taking off his hat, and bowing. He had long, brown straggly hair and blue eyes as pale as the winter sky. His beard and moustache were neatly trimmed.

“Please come in, and you must call me Abby.” She opened the door wider to allow the man to pass.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Roan.

“We shall go through to the sitting room. It is warmer there, and it will be the site of the bed we wish you to build.” She led the way to the room which was almost empty now save for the two armchairs, the tapestries and the stag’s head. “Please take a seat,” she said, indicating one of the armchairs.

“Thankee, ma’am.” Roan unbuttoned his overcoat to reveal a brown waistcoat and shirt that had probably once been white but was now a washed out grey.

“I would offer to take your coat, but it is too cold I fear. I have been living in my cloak this last seven day.” Abby laughed, because something about the man made her nervous and when she was nervous she often displayed an inappropriate humour.

“I am used tae it,” replied Roan.

“Of course. You must work outdoors all the time.”

“Aye, ma’am, or in me workshop.”

“And that is in the village, is it?”

“Aye.”

“May I offer you some tea? There is some warming by the fire.”

“Yes, thankee, ma’am.”

Abby went to the fire and used a cloth to pick up the kettle she’d placed on the hearth earlier. She made two mugs of tea and passed one to Roan.

“Shortbread?” She proffered a plate of the sugary biscuits and Roan took one.

“Very kind.”

“Not at all.” Abby took a bite out of her biscuit. “Mr Sinclair tells me you are a renowned furniture maker.”

“It is something I take pleasure in, ma’am.”

“And you work for Lord Kane in that capacity?”

“No, ma’am. I work a croft on the master’s estate.”

“I see. As you know, the master is currently unwell and one of the things I am hoping to do to aid his recovery is bring him further into the household. To do that, I am renovating this room to make it a chamber for Lord Kane. The master has a large four-poster bed which would be impossible to move, and so we require a new bed making, one fit for a man of his status.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Roan, taking a huge slurp of his tea.

“It would need to fit in here comfortably and also be easily dismantled once the master is well enough to return to his usual chamber. At the same time it must be attractive and in keeping with the style of the Hall.”

“I understand.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“I have some nice oak wood, ma’am. It has a good grain. Would ye be wanting a four-poster like the master has?”

Abby had considered Lord Kane’s wants and desires extensively over the last month and was confident she knew what he would like. “Yes. It doesn’t have to be as ornate as his current bed, but some carvings would be appropriate.”

“I can turn the wood easy enough, ma’am, put some nice finials on the posts.”

“That sounds lovely.”

Roan stood, walked around the room holding his mug. “Where will the bed go?”

“It must face the window, so I thought here against the back wall.” Abby followed him as he examined where she’d indicated.

“Next to the door?” he said, frowning.

“The door won’t be in much use. There is no other place with a view out to the front.”

Roan nodded. He took out a piece of wood from the pocket of his overcoat, unfolded it into a yardstick and commenced measuring. Abby retreated to the armchair to watch him. He didn’t take any notes, seemingly memorising the information he needed. When he was finished he returned the yardstick to his pocket.

“I have what I need,” he said.

“How long will it take do you think?”

“I will start on it straight away, ma’am. Lord Kane is the master. I expect it to take a month maybe more depending on the weather and the croft.”

“Very good. Thank you.”

Roan stood awkwardly with his mug of tea, his pale blue eyes examining Abby critically. “I heard ye was doing good things here.”

“Have you?”

“Ye’re the talk of the village.”

“I am nothing much special,” she replied, pleased with his comment nevertheless.

“They said ye was bonny, and ye are.”

“Oh!” She blushed with the candour of his words, which were unexpected as he’d been all business hitherto.

“I should be going then, ma’am.” He swept up his hat from the back of the chair, fastened it atop his head.

“Yes, of course,” said Abby, still flustered. She showed him to the door. “I would be grateful if you were discreet about the bed. It is the master’s private business and I wouldn’t want it to be the talk of the village.”

“No need tae worry. I shall keep yer secret. Good day to thee, ma’am.” He tipped the front of his hat and then trudged away through the soft snow.

Abby closed the door, stood against it for a moment. She hadn’t received a compliment from a man in some time, certainly not one from a stranger, and it gave her a warm feeling. She headed to the kitchen with a spring in her step.

\---

“You seem more cheery than usual, if such a thing were possible,” said Lord Kane when she was massaging his legs after lunch.

“It is a beautiful day full of possibilities,” Abby replied, paying extra attention to the back of his heels which were pressure points from lying abed all the time and had become sore.

“You will forgive me if I do not see things as you do.”

“I don’t agree. You are about to discover a world of possibility as soon as I have completed my routine.”

“How so?”

“We are starting a new book today, and who knows upon what wonderful journey it will transport us.” They had finished The Old Curiosity Shop the evening before, and at the pace they were reading, Abby expected they would be a good way through his bookcase by the end of the year.

“Am I to be consulted on which story we shall read?”

“No, for you will likely choose another Dickens, and whilst I very much enjoy his stories, they are somewhat gloomy. I have chosen something with more heart.”

Lord Kane groaned, but Abby ignored him. She helped him into a sitting position, pulled up his covers then went to his bookcase to select the book she’d already decided upon, having surreptitiously perused the shelves over the last few days whenever she was near to them.

She sat in the chair she now thought of as hers, pulled the blanket she left draped over it onto her knees because it was chilly despite the roaring fire, and opened the book.

“To what am I being subjected?” muttered Lord Kane, his face set in a scowl.

“The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood,” replied Abby, watching for his reaction.

“Oh! Hmm. Yes. Very well, then.” The scowl lifted and his brow smoothed out. Whilst most people wouldn’t describe the expression that replaced it as a smile, Abby interpreted it as such, as it was the closest he usually came to expressing happiness, and she was pleased.

“I am glad it meets with your approval. Shall we make a start?”

She read for half an hour or so as per usual, then set the book down next to the shell picture she’d made for Lord Kane, which remained where she’d originally placed it and not on the wall where she’d anticipated it would go. She supposed it was easier to see close up. The small Christmas tree was in front of the window, having been put there earlier by Abby when she removed its decorations, it being twelfth night and the traditional time for such activities. She hoped it would grow in its pot, and it was at least some small colour in the room for the master to admire.

“I believe you are something of a Robin Hood yourself, sir,” she said, unwilling to leave him alone so soon.

“In what way?”

“Your family is one of the few to have refused to clear the people from the land, and you have been determined to keep it that way despite there being more profitable alternatives.”

“I am not sure how that makes me a Robin Hood.”

“There are few landowners who would act so selflessly. Most are interested only in money.”

“People are the lifeblood of this land, and besides, the crofts are profitable, but modestly so.”

“I think it is a wonderful attitude. Most refreshing and inspiring.”

“You would. I suppose you find the pursuit of money abhorrent?”

“Everyone needs to make a living, even me, and I have no qualms about people who do well. It is the excess that I object to, and the ruination of others in pursuit of one’s own goals.”

Lord Kane studied her carefully, looking at her for longer than she thought he ever had. She grew warm beneath his examination, uncertain what he was seeing, or wishing to see.

“Why are you here?” he said at last, and his question made Abby grow even warmer.

“To tend to you,” she said, knowing full well he wouldn’t be content with such an answer.

“Quite so, but why? What interested you in our advertisement? What possessed you to come out here in the middle of nowhere and choose to stay here?”

“Why should I not come here? It is a job, and I was in need of work.”

“You are clearly more than a simple nurse. You are intelligent and well read. Where are you from originally?”

“Edinburgh,” replied Abby, pleased with his characterisation of her, and that he wanted to know more about her, for it showed interest in something other than what had happened to him. She was also fearful, because he was a clever man himself and might see through her non-committal answers and want to probe for more information than she wished to reveal.

“Could you not find a suitable role in the capital?”

“As I am sure you have realised by now, I do not do anything the conventional way.” She stood, smoothed down her dress. “I must go, for I thought I heard the carriage, and I am expecting a letter in the post.”

“I hope it is interesting news,” he said, his gaze following her as she gathered her things together.

“It is about you, sir, therefore it is bound to be fascinating.” She smiled at him and then left the room without looking back.

She stopped outside the door to take a deep breath and calm her beating heart. They had never had such a conversation before, not of such length or such intimacy. It was thrilling and gratifying, but he had taken her by surprise, and she was worried she had laid bare more of herself than she would like. She must prepare herself for future questioning so her answers would seem natural and he would be satisfied.

\---

The sound she had heard was indeed the carriage returning from the station at Corran. Abby stood shivering in the hall as Monty and Sinclair brought in the supplies. She’d offered to help, but the men had refused. She was delighted to see a large package addressed to her from Glasgow. It must be the equipment she’d ordered for Lord Kane – the gauze and the calamine lotion amongst other things.

“This came for thee as well,” said Monty, handing her an envelope.

“Oh, wonderful!” Abby took the letter and slipped it into the pocket of her cloak for reading when she was alone. It was from Professor Jackson for she recognised his handwriting, not that there was anyone else who would be corresponding with her as no one knew she was here.

“Where would you like this box taking?” said Sinclair, lifting the heavy package easily with his strong arms.

“Perhaps you could take it to Lord Kane’s room, but do not open it. I should like to examine its contents myself first.”

“Very well,” said Sinclair with a smile.

As the men wouldn’t let her help transport the rest of the supplies to the kitchen, Abby went to her room where she stoked up the fire before sitting in her armchair and taking out the letter, slitting the envelope and unfolding the paper carefully.

 _My Dearest Abby_ it began. She felt a lump rise to her throat because she could hear Professor Jackson’s soft voice, see his kind smile. She had had no contact with anyone who knew her for so long now, it gave her a warm feeling of nostalgia, which was necessarily tinged with sadness and the dull ache of a longing for the familiar. He had been so generous to her, giving of his time and expertise for no reward other than her blossoming mind, which he’d said was better than any payment.

_My Dearest Abby_

_How wonderful it is to hear from you. I am first of all most glad that you are well, for your hasty departure left me vexed and concerned for your health and wellbeing. I did not speak to your father directly as he has a low opinion of me as you know, and I did not believe he would give me the time of day, but I heard from your friend, Miss Jennings, that you had sent your mother a letter from Perth, so it was a relief to know you were alive. I was surprised, therefore, to receive your letter and discover that you are no longer in that fair town but much farther north where there seems to be nothing that would interest an enquiring mind such as yours. Then I read your letter, and I understood what is engaging you. You have quite the mystery there in your Lord Kane._

_Before I discuss the case and give my opinion, I want to assure you that, as you requested, I will not divulge your location to anyone, not even your father – ESPECIALLY not your father. I am proud that you have entrusted me with this private information, and I hope you know that I will not betray you._

_Now, onto the matter of your interesting charge._

Abby read the second part of Professor Jackson’s note three times. The first part she read only once, because the feelings of guilt it induced in her, unintended on his part she was sure, were too much for her to think about at this moment in time. She would rather think about Lord Kane and his care. The professor had some interesting observations and suggestions, and she decided she would share them with the master, as he had expressed interest when she had first mentioned the subject before Christmas.

That evening she took the letter and the Brunner book with her to Lord Kane’s chamber. The Lord was sitting up in bed, an expectant look on his face.

“A rather interesting package has arrived, Miss Griffin,” he said, gesturing to the parcel Abby had directed Sinclair to leave unopened, and which sat atop the chest at the foot of his bed.

“Indeed, sir. I hope that within lies your salvation from the agonies I inflict upon you daily.”

“Then you must waste no time in opening it.”

Abby put her medical bag on the chair and went to the box, realising as she looked at it that she did not have a knife with which to open the seals.

“Do you have a knife or some means of opening this, sir?” she asked Lord Kane.

“In the drawer of the dresser you will find what you need.”

Abby went over to the large wooden dressing table beneath the window. It was a secretaire, the type that had many drawers and doubled as a writing desk, and was made of a polished, honeyed walnut. The first drawer she opened revealed a red leather blotter inlaid, and four smaller drawers. Scrolls of paper were arranged neatly in the spaces to the side of the drawers, together with an ink well and assorted pens. Abby could imagine the young Lord Kane sitting at this desk, writing essays for his studies perhaps, or dealing with the business of the estate after the death of his father.

“Not there, the top drawer on the right,” the man in question said impatiently.

Abby closed the writing desk, opened the drawer indicated. Inside were more pens, sticks of a deep red sealing wax, and other paraphernalia pertaining to the act of writing. There was a metal case containing a pair of spectacles, and another small box lined with velvet that held a gold signet ring with a stag’s head. His seal, perhaps. She found a penknife at the bottom of the drawer. It was unusual, delicate for an instrument meant to slice and stab. The case was horn or some such material, black and polished, inlaid with a silver design like a flower vine, the leaves and petals iridescent greens, blues, and purples.

“This is beautiful,” she said, showing it to him as she returned to the box.

“It belonged to my mother.”

“The colours are astonishing. Is it mother of pearl?”

“It is from an abalone shell. My father had it made for her from a shell he found on their honeymoon in the East Indies.”

“Gosh, what a meaningful gift. They must have been very much in love.” She smiled at him and he shrugged.

“I believe so.”

“How lovely. What was her name?”

“Evalina, although she was known as Eva.”

“A beautiful name, and your father?”

“George. Are you going to open this box or continue your interrogation?”

“I am opening it now,” she said, slitting the seal with the knife, keeping her head down so he wouldn’t see her smile at his impatience. She was surprised she’d got so much information out of him. His parents sounded most interesting and well-travelled; she must probe their son further, though not yet. Subtle encouragement, that was the plan.

She opened the box, pulled out some of the more interesting items. The calamine lotion was there, and the special gauze. She took the items and sat in her chair, handing a packet of the gauze to Lord Kane for him to examine it.

“This is supposed to prevent you ripping my skin from my body?” he said, taking a strip out and holding it beneath his long nose, which he then wrinkled, because it smelled strongly of the lotion with which it was impregnated.

“That is the promise. Shall we test its efficacy?”

“I suppose we should.”

Abby pulled back his covers and undressed him as usual. She went through her routine first, massaging his muscles and doing the stretches. She opened the calamine lotion, dabbed it onto the wounds on his chest which were healed but itchy. It had a strong perfumed scent which was pleasanter than the camphor.

“How does that feel?” she said.

“It appears soothing.”

“It leaves a residue on the skin. You look as though you have a strange pink pox,” she said, laughing.

Lord Kane looked down at his chest which was mottled pink above the purple scars. “There is no one to care how I look,” he mumbled, running a long finger over one of the scars and then examining the tip.

“It matters only that you are comfortable. Now, let us try this magical gauze.” She cut sections to fit the different sizes of his various wounds, talking as she worked. “I must say I shall miss making you scream in agony when I change your dressings. It is the highlight of my day.” She grinned at him to show she was joking.

“You delight in tormenting me.”

“There is little else to do here, sir.”

Abby chose one of the smallest of his wounds for her experiment with the new material. She stuck the gauze to it without ceremony, holding her hand above the wound to ensure it was bonded, then she and Lord Kane stared at his leg.

“Would you prefer to remove it yourself, my Lord?” said Abby, for joking aside she knew that this part of his care was one of the more painful he had to endure.

“I would not dream of depriving you of this moment, Miss Griffin,” he replied, his gaze direct and challenging. The muscles of his face were making small twitching motions, as though they were in a fight with each other over whether or not to smile.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, and then she teased a corner of the gauze. It came away easily, a reddish stain from the carbolic acid apparent to prove it had been in contact with his wound, but no blood or skin. “Did that hurt?” she said, looking at him. He appeared pink cheeked with no trace of sweat.

“Not at all.”

“Oh, good!” Abby couldn’t help a broad smile from overtaking her face. “I suppose it might be different after a few hours, but we shall see.”

“Indeed we shall.” Lord Kane lay back, his arms pillowing his head as Abby completed bandaging his wounds.

“I received a letter from the professor at Edinburgh University,” she said when she sat in her chair next to him afterwards.

“Oh, yes?”

“He doesn’t believe excising your wounds further would be advantageous; in fact, he suggests it would make the situation worse.”

“May I see what he has written?”

“Yes, of course. Here is the relevant part.” She had already folded the letter in anticipation of his request, so that he would not see the first part of the letter about her, or the end which pertained to Lord Kane’s night terrors. Of course, he did not let his notice of that go unremarked.

“Are there parts I cannot see?” he said, fingering the folds of the paper.

“There are parts I would prefer you not to see, yes.”

“Do they pertain to me?”

“For the most part they pertain to me,” Abby replied.

“And you do not wish me to see what he has written to you. Hmm.” He rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip and stared at her.

“It is not what you think.”

“And what do I think?”

“He is not... he is... was, my mentor, that is all.”

“Then why can I not see what he has written?”

“You can if you must,” she replied, returning his stare, her heart thumping, wondering if he would do it, and what that would mean for her, and her considerations of his character.

“It shall remain a mystery,” he said at last, creasing the folds further.

Abby sighed internally with relief. He was her employer and the master of this house and would probably consider he had a right to read her correspondence, especially if it was about him. She was pleased he had decided not to exercise it.

She sat silently while Lord Kane read the letter.

“You trust this man, his opinion?” he said when he had finished.

“I do. He is the best in Edinburgh if not Scotland, not just in his practical knowledge and expertise but in his critical thinking. He often sees things others do not, and is abreast of the latest medical practices.”

“As are you,” mumbled Lord Kane.

“I was his pupil. I am what he made me.”

“Somehow I doubt anyone has made you what you are.” Lord Kane handed Abby the letter. “He advocates exercise and fresh air.”

“He does.”

“That is not possible.”

“Not at this time, no,” replied Abby, happy merely to have planted the seed for now. She would water it over the next couple of months with her words and actions, and it would grow and bloom in Lord Kane’s mind.

“I do not see it ever being possible.”

“Very well.”

She looked at him, and he looked at her, and she fancied he knew she would not give up that easily, but he nodded, and that was an end to the subject for the time being.

“Shall we see what adventures Robin Hood has for us?” she said, getting the book from the table.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby falls in love, and finds out how Lord Kane was injured in South Africa.

The respite from the snow and the cold did not last long. Deep into January it was colder at Arkaig Hall than Abby had ever known it in the relatively warmer lowlands surrounding her Edinburgh home. Outside there was nothing to see but a snow so deep the shapes of the rocks and bushes around the Hall were indiscernible from each other. Abby spent most of the time she wasn’t with Lord Kane in the kitchen with Harper and Charlotte, teaching the younger girl her letters, reading the books on psychology and wound management, or helping Harper with the food preparation. The furniture had been removed from the former sitting and dining rooms and there wasn’t much left to do until Roan arrived to install the new bed.

One of the Border Collie dogs they kept for managing the sheep had escaped before Christmas and on a particularly cold, snowy day where the sky and the surroundings merged into one grey mass, she surprised the household by giving birth to a litter of puppies. The first Abby knew about it was when Sinclair entered the kitchen with a tiny one in his arms.

“Open the oven!” he instructed a confused Harper, who did as he asked.

Sinclair laid the pup wrapped in a bloody blanket on the warm open door. It made no sound, and he rubbed it vigorously with the blanket to no avail. Abby knelt beside him, looked into the pup’s mouth and then inserted two probing fingers to clear a mucus-like substance that appeared to be preventing the dog from breathing. A moment later it emitted a sad mewling sound, and she sighed with relief.

“It is alive!” she said.

“Aye, but it is the runt and has had a poor start. It remains to be seen if it is any use,” muttered Sinclair.

He left the puppy in the eager care of Abby, Harper, and Charlotte, but over the next few days it became obvious the dog had suffered some damage to one of her legs on her way into the world, for when she tried to walk she limped and preferred to drag the bad leg behind her.

“It will have to go,” said Sinclair. “We can’t afford to feed the ones we’ve got.”

“Oh, no!” chorused Abby and Harper. Charlotte ran from the room crying.

“This is a working estate; there’s no room for sentiment, you know that.”

Sinclair picked up the puppy, which yapped happily, trying to nip playfully at his hand, for she knew not that she had what the man holding her thought of as a deficiency.

“She is not going to cost much to keep,” said Abby, stroking the dog’s soft black and white fur.

“She can eat the scraps,” said Harper.

“I’ll gladly give her a portion of my meals.”

Sinclair sighed. “Mrs MacKay will not be happy about this.”

“She need have nothing to do with it,” replied Abby, easing the puppy from Sinclair’s arms. “I shall take care of her.”

Mrs MacKay entered the kitchen an hour later and stood with arms folded and a frown so deep it caused canyons to form across her forehead.

“There are to be no dogs in this house!” she said.

“There are half a dozen dogs already in this house,” replied Abby, holding onto the puppy tightly, for Mrs MacKay looked in the mood to take her and ask Harper to bake her into a pie.

“Those are working dogs that live outside. We have enough to do in this house without cleaning up after a filthy animal.”

“She is not filthy, and I will clear up after her. You will not know she is here.” Abby pressed a kiss to the puppy’s head, and it looked up at her with soft brown eyes. She already knew she would fight Mrs MacKay to the death rather than give up the dog.

“You are responsible for everything that dog does,” said Mrs MacKay, wagging an angry finger at Abby and the dog.

“She will be as good as gold.”

As Abby said these words, she felt a warm wetness seep into the cloth of her dress. She turned quickly so Mrs MacKay wouldn’t see what the dog had done, risking the woman’s wrath yet again for turning her back on her. She heard a lot of tutting and sighing and clicking of her tongue, and then there was silence.

“She’s gone,” said Harper with a giggle.

“Look at the mess she has made of my uniform, just as I’d said she would be good!” Abby handed the puppy to Harper so she could get a cloth from the sink and clean her wet dress.

“She’s just expressing her opinion o’ Mrs MacKay,” sniggered Harper, making Abby laugh.

“You’re a naughty wee girl,” she said to the puppy as she took hold of her again and sat at the table with her on her knee. “But very clever.”

“Are ye going tae give her a name now she’s saved?” said Harper, tickling between the dog’s ears.

“I’m naming her Hope.” Abby smiled at the thought of Sinclair’s reaction when he found out the name, for he had forbidden her to bring hope to this house, and now here she was in the form of a beautiful dog.

That afternoon she took Hope with her on her visit to Lord Kane. She knew exactly what he would say but was going ahead regardless. He would be annoyed at first and resist all efforts to engage him with the dog. Hope would be banished from his chamber, time and time again, but between them Abby and the dog would wear him down, until he relented, begrudgingly at first, and soon the dog would be his companion and plaything, and maybe even confidante. Abby was certain of it.

“I have brought someone to meet you!” she said, heading towards him with an excitable puppy wriggling in her arms.

He screwed up his face in disgust. “What is that?”

“It is a puppy as you quite well know. It is the one I was telling you of. I have taken charge of her. Her name is Hope.”

“What is it doing in here?”

“She is with me. Where I go, she goes.”

“I think not!” replied Lord Kane. “It should be out in the kennels with the others.”

“She cannot live in the kennel. She has an injured leg and needs care. I intend to heal it if I can.”

“This is not a home for waifs and strays.”

Abby didn’t reply, because that was exactly what Arkaig Hall was. It was a refuge for the orphaned, the wounded and sad, and those seeking to escape.

“She will not be a bother,” she said.

“How can you tend to me when that thing is running around?”

“I have brought a means of constraining her while I tend to you,” Abby said, taking out a length of rope from her medical bag and tying the dog to the foot of the bed with it.

Hope was no more happy with this situation than Lord Kane, and she barked and yapped and twisted this way and that on the rope.

“I cannot abide that infernal racket!” complained Lord Kane, putting his hands over his ears. “Remove the dog!”

“Very well,” said Abby, untying Hope and taking her to the door where Charlotte was waiting in anticipation of this outcome.

“Take her to Harper,” said Abby, handing Hope to the young girl with a conspiratorial wink. “She is gone,” she said, returning to her patient.

“I do not wish to see it again,” he growled.

“We shall see.”

“We shall not.”

“Perhaps a massage will soothe your annoyance away, sir,” said Abby, taking up her usual position on the bed next to him. She eased his nightshirt down, warmed the oil in her palms, then pushed him forward without much ceremony, running her hands firmly up his back, digging her thumbs into his shoulders.

“You are forceful today!” he grumbled.

“You appear especially tense.”

“I wonder why.”

When she’d finished her routine, Abby sat in the chair and picked up the latest book. They were reading The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins, and she was enjoying the mystery enormously.

“I wonder if women will ever be truly free from the rule of men?” she said to Lord Kane when she’d finished reading.

“The law has changed recently in a woman’s favour,” he replied, folding the top of his comforter over and smoothing it out.

“It is truly a wonderful thing that a woman no longer has to give everything she owns upon marriage to her husband, but in all other respects very little has changed.”

“Change takes time.”

“Yes, but time is the passing of peoples’ lives. Women are still beholden to their fathers, subject to their wishes, and should they escape that, it is only to be thrust into the clutches of a husband they have had no choice in obtaining.”

“You make marriage sound terrible.”

“It is for women.”

Lord Kane raised both eyebrows quite considerably high up his brow at that. “Have you been married?”

“No.”

“Then how would you know?”

“I have seen its effects amongst my female acquaintances,” replied Abby, unwilling to give him any personal information or insight.

“I have not seen such things myself.”

“That is because you are a man. All is well and as it should be from your perspective.”

A snort emanated from him at her comment and the corners of his lips twitched into a half smile. “You think you know how I see such things?”

Abby shrugged but made no comment, because she realised she didn’t know how he saw such things, because she knew so little about the man he was before the war, and they had never talked like this.

“I believe my parents had a good marriage,” he said. “That is the only experience I have.”

“I am glad they did.”

He examined her closely in the fading light. “Do your parents not have a good marriage?”

Abby thought about her wonderful, loving mother, who had nevertheless followed her husband’s wishes when it came to her only child, even though she knew it was not a life Abby wanted. Abby didn’t blame her, and she’d thought for a long time that it wasn’t in her mother’s nature to question her position in life, but now she wondered if she was instead supressing her true desires because there was nothing else she could do.

“I believe it works in its own way.”

“But it is not what you want?”

“I do not want to be beholden to anybody.”

Lord Kane nodded slowly, looking at her with his dark eyes all the while. “You think that means you must be alone?”

“Do you think you must be alone?” she said, her heart thumping because their conversation had become intimate and it was shocking.

“Our situations are not the same.”

“We are both not able to be who we wish to be.”

A silence fell between them that felt charged to Abby, like the quiet heaviness before a storm. She wasn’t sure if she had gone too far with the boldness of her intercourse with him.

“Quite,” said Lord Kane at last, and that was the end of the conversation.

\---

Abby spent the early part of the evening in the new sitting room at the rear of the house. It was a much smaller room than the one that was now to be Lord Kane’s bedroom, and it was cosy with the fire roaring and the furniture set close together around the rug. She was making a new doll for Charlotte, a boy one to match the girl, and she was not alone. Mr Sinclair was sitting in the other armchair opposite her, reading a book. At her feet lay Hope, tired out finally after tearing around the house for the past hour, her injured leg seeming to prove no barrier to her enthusiasm. Abby was going to examine her thoroughly tomorrow, perhaps make a splint for the leg.

They were sitting together in a comfortable silence, each engrossed in their activity. Abby had been at the hall over two months but she had rarely spent this much time in Sinclair’s company because he was always busy, either out on the estate, in the office with Mrs MacKay or with Lord Kane. It was rare to have him so long in the same room and she determined to make the most of it. She’d given him peace for a short while, but now her natural impatience rose to the surface and she put down her sewing.

She was about to speak when the door opened, and Abby looked up to see Harper entering carrying a tray containing the rosy teapot and cups and saucers. Abby hoped she wasn’t going to stay because she wanted to talk privately to Sinclair, and then felt guilty for thinking that. She smiled extra warmly at Harper to make up for the thought the girl didn’t know she’d had.

“I thought ye might like a nice cup of tea and a shortbread,” she said, setting the tray on the table that sat between Abby and Sinclair.

“That’s very kind,” said Abby.

“Yes, thank you,” said Sinclair, setting down his book.

Harper poured the tea the way she knew both parties liked it.

“Are you joining us?” asked Abby, although she’d noted there were only two cups.

“Nae, Abby. I’ve got things to prepare fer tomorrow. Enjoy yer shortbread; it’s fresh oot the oven.”

“Lovely, thank you, Harper.”

Harper left and Sinclair picked up the plate containing the sugary biscuits, offering it to Abby who took one.

“Mmm, these are still warm,” she said as the crumbly biscuit melted on her tongue.

“Harper is a wonderful cook,” replied Sinclair.

“She is.” Abby was glad now of Harper’s intrusion, because this gave her the perfect opening for a less formal conversation with the man who’d served in the army with Lord Kane. She had a lot of questions for him and she was eager to know more about his time with the master in South Africa after her conversation with him earlier. They’d shared a moment of truthfulness, wherein the change in him since his capture had been alluded to and acknowledged for the first time. She needed to know more if she was to break through the stone wall he had erected around himself.

“It must make a change from being in the army,” she said as an opening gambit. “The food, I mean.”

“Oh, yes. The men did their best but there was little in the way of provision.”

“Were you in the army before the war, or did you volunteer like Lord Kane?” She studied him to see how he responded to her line of questioning. He seemed happy to speak, his posture relaxed as he sipped his tea.

“I was already an officer. I am the second son of my family and it was either the army or becoming a priest. I did not wish to devote my body and soul to God,” he said, smiling conspiratorially at her.

“You are from the north of England are you not? How did you end up fighting with Lord Kane? He was with the Highlanders I believe.”

“I am from the north, yes; is my accent such a giveaway?”

“I could not pinpoint your exact birthplace, but yes I can tell from the way you enunciate your vowels. I have an affinity with language.”

“There does not seem to be much you do not have an affinity with!” He looked at her as he often did, as though perplexed by her and her nature. It was a look she’d received often in her life. Abby did not know how to respond so she looked him in the eye expectantly instead.

He continued answering her question. “I am from Preston in Lancashire and I fought in the North Lancashire Regiment. We fought alongside the Seaforth Highlanders, Lord Kane’s regiment, at the Battle of Magersfontein, which is where I met him. Both our regiments were decimated in that battle and around the time of the insurgence in which Kane was injured, we had effectively become one large regiment, a rag tag of survivors for the most part.”

“You are very brave to have fought in that war. I had a patient who had been injured early in the war and he had lots of terrible tales about his time there.”

“Conditions were atrocious, but that is war I suppose. It was a first taste of combat for me even though I’d been in the army a few years by then. I first saw Lord Kane atop his horse, issuing instructions to his men as they prepared for battle. I was impressed with his coolness and his command, particularly when I discovered he was so young.”

“What was he like back then?”

Sinclair put down his cup, sat back against the chair and did not answer immediately. Abby started to think he did not want to talk anymore, but then he laced his fingers and rested them against his flat stomach.

“Confidence was the first impression he gave, the cockiness of youth. He appeared to have an unerring belief in himself and what he was doing. He relished discussing tactics and battle plans and wasn’t shy about fighting for his own ideas even against officers of higher rank than himself. He could be amusing, quick witted, ready with a story or a joke. Most of the time he was calm and collected, but when sufficiently riled he was quick to temper.”

“That does not surprise me,” said Abby, who had been on the receiving end of Lord Kane’s temperament many times.

“True, but you see only that side of him now. In our private talks he would often reveal his doubts, and his fears that his decisions could have disastrous consequences for his men. He didn’t command them into battle lightly; he truly believed that his way was the correct one, and so it proved, until the end.”

“What happened that day?” said Abby softly, her heart thumping against her chest at the image she was forming of Lord Kane before his injuries, and at the thought of what he’d been through to change him so.

“Nothing any of us did was wrong, I must emphasise that. Both my captain and Lord Kane were in agreement about the size and number of the enemy, and believed them to be easy to overrun. Sadly, they had been misinformed, and it was us that were overrun. Their guns were so much better than ours and relentless, and the casualties on our side were high, and we seemed to be making little effect on them. The blood was rushing in my veins at the sight of so many of my friends and comrades being massacred, and I made myself too exposed. I was shot, nothing life threatening in the end, but it floored me, and as I lay on the ground one of their men approached me. He meant to kill me at close distance. I have often thought since why he did not shoot me from afar, and I can only conclude he relished a more personal taking of life. He had a sword, and he meant to smite me with it when Lord Kane appeared on his horse in the middle of the battlefield, guns going off all around him, and he smote the man instead, and gathered me up onto his horse. He took a great personal risk to rescue me, and I owe my life to him.”

“Is that why you left the army to work for him?”

“We had discussed that already during our long hours together waiting for battle. He was in need of an estate manager, and I knew I was not cut out for army life. The battle ended when most of our regiment were killed by the enemy guns. Lord Kane received the injuries you are familiar with. I survived because I was off the battlefield being treated for my injury.

“When the dust had settled, I could not find Kane, and then I received a report that he had been captured by the Boers and taken away. It took me nearly a month to find him, and when I did he was near death. I didn’t think he would survive the journey home and neither did he, but he was determined. He said he wanted to die on Scottish soil and that was all he was holding on for. We arrived here by boat and we sent for a doctor from Inverness who made him comfortable, but he did not hold out hope and neither did we.”

“But he did not die,” said Abby, tears flowing down her cheeks at Sinclair’s tale. Her heart was so heavy for Lord Kane, sad for what he had endured, but full of admiration.

“I believe his stubborn nature is keeping him alive. He does not like to be defeated, not even by death.”

“You are a wonderful friend to care for him so.”

“He would do the same for me; I have no doubt.” He nodded at her and then took up his book as a signal that the conversation was over.

Abby picked up Hope, held her to her breast, her tears falling onto the dog’s fur making it damp. Poor Lord Kane, she thought as she kissed the puppy. So brave, so selfless. She was more determined than ever to help restore some of his previous humour. He had been as good as dead, but had stubbornly survived. Somewhere deep inside was a man who wanted to live, it was simply a matter of finding him.

That evening she was more gentle than usual when she tended him, massaged him for longer and with greater care. She didn’t talk much because her heart was still heavy and she was unable to muster lightness. When she’d finished reading, she sat with the book on her lap.

“Are you in good health?” said Lord Kane after a moment of silence.

“I am, sir. Why do you ask?”

“You are quieter than usual. I wondered if you were feeling unwell.”

“I am quite well, thank you. I was thinking, that is all.”

“Oh, dear,” groaned Lord Kane. “That usually bodes ill for me.”

Abby bent closer to him. “I am glad I came here,” she said. “It has been interesting getting to know you.”

His frown deepened. “Are you leaving?” he said.

“No! Why would you think that?”

“Your words... they sounded final, as though you were saying goodbye.”

“I did not mean them to. I am not leaving you.” She put her hand on top of his which was above the comforter. He did not push her away. The air felt heavy, as though there was a tension between them. “Does that news disappoint you?” she said with a smile to lighten the mood.

“No,” he replied, and then he eased his hand from beneath hers and pulled up his comforter.

“Good night,” said Abby, standing.

“Good night,” replied Lord Kane.

Abby picked up her medical bag and walked towards the door. As she opened it she turned, feeling as though his eyes were upon her. They were, and they continued looking as she looked back at him. She slipped out of the door, closed it behind her then stood against it, her pulse racing, her heart thumping. He wanted her to stay, and she was glad of that. Very glad indeed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Operation Hope!

The knowledge that Lord Kane welcomed her presence and did not wish her to leave gave Abby confidence that her methods were appreciated and working. She decided to put Operation Hope into full gear, which started with examining the dog’s leg. Hope was laid on the kitchen table, held down by Harper and Monty, while Abby felt the leg. It didn’t seem to cause Hope any pain, but Abby wondered as she compared the injured back leg to the other one if the problem were congenital and nothing to do with the circumstances of the puppy’s birth. The bone appeared to be intact; it was the muscle that appeared wasted in comparison to the other. She wasn’t sure there was much she could do about that, but she created a tiny splint for the leg nevertheless with the aim of straightening it and perhaps giving strength to the muscle. Hope didn’t like it at all at first, but she was of an indomitable personality and was soon running around as before.

Abby’s next attempt at ingratiating the puppy with Lord Kane started badly and ended much worse. She had instructed Charlotte to bring Hope to his door at a certain time, when Abby expected she would have completed Lord Kane’s physical therapy and would be reading to him. She left the door to his chamber slightly ajar so the dog could enter undetected. Unfortunately, Charlotte’s poor time keeping proved the undoing of the scheme, and the dog skittered into the room just as Abby was fastening her patient back into his nightshirt.

“Hope!” she said, not having to pretend to be surprised because she genuinely was. “What are you doing here?”

“How did that dog get in?” grumbled Lord Kane.

“I do not know, sir, she is tenacious.” Abby picked up Hope and stroked her.

“Well, put her back out again.”

“I shall in a moment after she is reacquainted with me. If I part from her too soon she will only bark and yap at your door.”

Lord Kane sighed but did not reiterate his wish for the dog to leave. Abby stood stroking her, whispering to her.

“What is that upon its leg?” said Lord Kane, pointing to the splint.

“It is a splint I made.” Abby told him about her examination of the dog and her plan for her recovery.

“And you think that will work?”

“It is worth a try.”

“Hmm.”

At that moment, Hope began wriggling in Abby’s arms, bored perhaps of being held still for more than a moment, and before Abby could react she had jumped out of her arms and landed on the bed on top of Lord Kane.

“Oof!” he exclaimed in surprise. He tried to bat Hope away but she was excited at being in close proximity to someone new and she assaulted his face with licks.

“Good heavens!” mumbled Lord Kane, trying to push her away. “Get it off me!”

“Of course,” said Abby, moving to pick Hope up. As she did so, the dog forgot its manners in its excitement and a damp patch bloomed on the master’s nightshirt where it covered his stomach.

“Bloody hell!” he said, looking down at it aghast.

“Oh, Hope!” said Abby, distraught at this unfortunate turn of events. She rushed the dog to the door, shut her outside then returned to Lord Kane. He was still staring at his nightshirt in disbelief. “I am sorry, my Lord,” said Abby, unbuttoning the shirt hurriedly.

“I am soaked!”

“Yes.” Abby removed the nightshirt to reveal that the dampness had gone through to his shorts. Without thinking she started to unbutton those as well.

“What are you doing?” said Lord Kane, his hands on hers pulling them away.

“I am removing your damp garments.”

“Not those!”

“What is the issue? I’m your nurse, and I have seen you mostly naked for months now!”

“You have not seen that part, nor shall you. Hands off!”

He succeeded in pushing her away and Abby felt an overwhelming urge to laugh. Now that she was over the initial shock, she found the scene amusing, and Lord Kane’s mortification especially so. She put her hand over her mouth to hide her smile.

“Look the other way,” said Lord Kane, and Abby turned her back on him, free for the moment to allow a huge grin to spread across her face. The bed creaked as he manoeuvred himself to take off his shorts. “Here,” he said, and she turned around to see him sitting completely naked with his knees up and tight together, holding out his wet shorts. She took them, put them in a pile with his nightshirt.

“Is the bed damp as well, sir?” she said.

“It appears not, thankfully. There are fresh clothes in the top drawer of my chest,” he said.

Abby went to the large oak chest that was against the far wall, opened it and chose a replacement nightshirt and new shorts. She returned to Lord Kane, handed him the shorts. She looked away again while he put them on.

“I am very sorry, sir,” she said as she helped him into the clean nightshirt.

“The dog is a liability.”

“She just wants to be your friend.”

“She has friends in the kennel.”

“Yes, but they do not love her as we do.”

“There is no we in this situation.”

Abby let out a sharp laugh at the double meaning of his use of the word “we” given what had just happened.

“What is amusing?” he said, his brow furrowed in a deep frown.

“You said there was no we, but...” she gestured to the damp clothes on the floor, smiling at him.

“Yes. Well.” His dark eyes looked at her and there was a glint of something in them that could be considered amusement if you knew him as well as Abby was beginning to do.

“I am truly sorry it happened, sir.”

“Do not let it happen again.”

“I will endeavour not to. Shall we continue our story?”

He huffed and sniffed for a moment and she thought he was going to dismiss her, but he nodded.

“Very well.”

After that, Hope mysteriously made her way in and out of Lord Kane’s room when Abby was there at least once every other day. She was promptly shooed out again on Lord Kane’s instruction. On the tenth day of Operation Hope, Abby instructed Sinclair to leave the door of the chamber ajar and a few minutes later sent Hope in ahead of her. She waited outside with her ear to the gap.

“Oh, it is you again,” said Lord Kane to Hope. “Where is your mistress?”

Hope yapped excitedly and Abby prayed she would not disgrace herself again.

“Miss Griffin!” he shouted. Abby remained quiet. “Sinclair!”

No one responded other than Hope who barked. Abby could hear Lord Kane’s sigh from her position on the other side of the door.

“You are a determined wee thing are you not? Like your mistress,” she heard him say. “What are we to do with you?”

Abby heard Hope mewl in a way she did when she was happy. She put her eye to the gap, saw Lord Kane had his hand dangling outside the bed, his fingers stroking the top of Hope’s head. Abby’s heart swelled with happiness. It was working! She waited a moment, and then she pushed open the door, strode into the room. Lord Kane’s hand was back beneath his comforter.

“Good morning!” she said, and then she stopped, pretending to notice Hope for the first time. “Oh, dear.”

“Yes. Your dog seems determined to be in my chamber.”

“She can be wilful, sir.” Abby picked up Hope, sat in her chair with the dog on her knee.

“It is uncanny how often she is able to enter without assistance.”

“Is it?”

“Someone must be leaving the door ajar, unless she is Houdini.”

“She enjoys your company, sir, cannot keep away.”

“I doubt that.” He reached across, put his finger beneath Hope’s chin and lifted her head to look at him. “She is a fine specimen; pity about her leg.”

“It does not seem to bother her.”

“No, but she will never be a working dog.”

“That does not mean she cannot have purpose.”

He was silent for a moment, looked from the dog to Abby and back again. “I suppose the child likes her, Charlotte.”

“Charlotte loves Hope. We all do.”

“She must be trained. We cannot have accidents like we did the other week.”

“No, I agree. I shall take charge of her training myself, have no fear.” Abby was beyond delighted with how the conversation was going. She had not expected him to give in so easily. Of course, it didn’t mean he was going to accept Hope in his chamber all the time, but it was a huge step forward, and now the first domino had fallen, the rest would surely follow.

\---

A few days later Abby returned from her morning walk with Hope feeling refreshed and full of optimism. The snow had started to melt and she’d made a discovery in the woodland that had given her joy.

“Look what I found, Harper,” she said as she entered the kitchen.

“Oh, the first snowdrops, Abby. How lovely.”

“They are beautiful are they not? Nice to see new growth at last after all this snow.”

Abby put the delicate white flowers in a jug of water while she took off her cloak which was sodden at the edge as usual from dragging through the snow. She hung it on the peg next to the range and then sat at the table. Charlotte was due for her lesson soon and Abby wanted to update her report on Lord Kane before then. He had suffered another night terror in the early hours of the morning, but it hadn’t seemed to last as long as usual. He was used to her holding him now even though he didn’t know it during his waking hours, and she could soothe him quickly. She wished she could have the room next to his instead of Sinclair for then she would be on hand sooner and might be able to prevent him clawing at his wounds completely, but there was no explaining such a move to Lord Kane without him finding out about his night-time torments.

“What are those, Abby?” said Harper, looking over Abby’s shoulder as she wiped her hands on a dishcloth.

“They are graphs of Lord Kane’s night terrors since I arrived. This one shows their number and frequency and this one shows their duration. I only have data for the duration when I am present, but Mr Sinclair informs me of any incidents when I am not there. I hope to persuade him to time them on my behalf, but he says he cannot do that and tend to the master at the same time.”

Harper pulled the notebook towards her so she could see better. “Why do ye do it? What does it mean?”

“I do it so I can see if my care of the master is having an effect.”

“Ye don’t need a graph to see that. He’s a lot better.”

“What we see with our eyes isn’t the whole truth. He might be engaging more with us, but his mind is working against him and he can’t help that. To see how his mind is affected we must see if the night terrors are decreasing.”

“And are they?”

“There is a downward trend. Can you see how the line is sloping down to the right?” Abby pointed to the area on the graph. “That shows they are becoming less frequent.”

“That’s good then, shows we were right. He is getting better.”

“It wouldn’t pass a scientific examination, because I have no previous data to compare it with and it’s a small difference, but I am pleased nevertheless.”

“It’s better than it going up, Abby,” said Harper, putting her arms around Abby’s shoulders and giving her a brief squeeze. “Ye’re the best thing that’s happened to the master in a long time.”

Abby was touched and gratified by Harper’s words. “Thank you.”

“I mean it,” said Harper, heading into the pantry and coming out a moment later with a side of ham, which she put on the table with a thump. “He were a right miserable sod before ye came.”

“He is not exactly a ray of sunshine now,” laughed Abby.

“He is compared with before. He’s like a dark day when there’s lots of clouds but ye know the sun’s going to come oot cause ye can see it peeking from behind the cloud. One day he’ll come oot completely and it’ll be like a sunny day.”

“That’s very poetic, Harper. I hope he does; I really do.”

Harper smiled at Abby confidently, and Abby took her smile and stored it away for a day when she wasn’t feeling as happy as she was this morning.

A moment later, Charlotte slunk into the kitchen with her slate and the book Lord Kane had given her, Treasure Island.

“Ah, here’s my willing pupil,” Abby said with more than a hint of sarcasm because Charlotte was the most reluctant student she had ever known.

Charlotte sighed, then pulled out a chair and sat in it, clattering her slate and the book onto the table.

“It’s nice ootside,” she said, looking at Abby plaintively.

“It is, and when you’ve finished your letters you can go out and play for half an hour. Now, where did we leave poor Jim Hawkins?”

After lunch Abby reported to Lord Kane’s room as usual. Hope followed her in and went straight to the master while Abby put the snowdrops on the dressing table in front of the window. When she turned, she found the puppy was stood awkwardly on her back legs, the splinted one wobbling but holding, her front paws on the side of the bed, having her head tickled by Lord Kane.

“I have brought the first snowdrops of the season,” she said, making no comment on the scene. She went instead to the chest, got out her equipment.

“Thank you. How is the training coming along?”

“She is almost walking to heel and she will sit upon command, but she has a love of life which precludes her from doing either for long.”

“She is disobedient you mean,” said Lord Kane, stroking one of Hope’s paws. Hope barked and scraped against the wood of the bed, wanting to be picked up.

“She has her own mind,” replied Abby, picking the dog up and tentatively placing her on the bed, still held within her grasp, a vision of what happened the last time she was on the bed appearing to Abby.

“She is not the only one.” Lord Kane glanced at Abby, the beginnings of a lopsided smirk on his face.

“It must be in the air at Arkaig, sir, for there is not a person here shy to air their views.” She offered him a similar smirk.

“Then I suppose it inevitable she found herself here.”

“Where she is very much appreciated.”

“She is.” Lord Kane held Abby’s gaze a moment, then looked back at the dog. “Perhaps she should leave now; you have work to do.”

“Of course.” Abby put Hope outside the door and returned to commence her usual routine with Lord Kane.

She examined the wound on his stomach closely as she removed the gauze. “This is much improved,” she said, touching the scar gently. “Does it feel so to you?”

“It is less painful.”

“Good. We may get you out of this bed yet.” She smiled up at him, but he did not acknowledge her comment.


End file.
